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THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS 


.   OF  CALIF.   LIBRABY,  LOS  AUGBLSS 


THE 

SCHOOL  QUEENS 


BY 
L  T.  MEADE 

Author  of  "Polly,  a  New-Fashioned  Girl,' 

"Sue,  a  Little  Heroine,"  "Daddy's  Girl," 

"A  Sweet  Girl  Graduate,"  etc. 


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BIOGRAPHY    AND    BIBLIOGRAPHY 

L.  T.  MEADE  (Mrs.  Elizabeth  Thomasina  Smith), 
English  novelist,  was  born  at  Bandon,  County  Cork, 
Ireland,  1854,  the  daughter  of  Rev.  R.  T.  Meade, 
Rector  of  Novohal,  County  Cork,  and  married  Toul- 
min  Smith  in  1879.  She  wrote  her  first  book,  Lettie's 
Last  Home,  at  the  age  of  seventeen  and  since  then  has 
been  an  unusually  prolific  writer,  her  stories  attain- 
ing wide  popularity  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

She  worked  in  the  British  Museum,  living  in  Bish- 
opsgate  Without,  making  special  studies  of  East 
London  life  which  she  incorporated  in  her  stories. 
She  edited  Atlanta  for  six  years.  Her  pictures  of 
girls,  especially  in  the  influence  they  exert  on  their 
elders,  are  drawn  with  intuitive  fidelity;  pathos, 
love,  and  humor,  as  in  Daddy's  Girl,  flowing  easily 
from  her  pen.  She  has  traveled  extensively,  being 
devoted  to  motoring  and  other  outdoor  sports. 

Among  more  than  fifty  novels  she  has  written,  deal- 
ing largely  with  questions  of  home  life,  are:  David's 
Little  Lad;  Great  St.  Benedict's;  A  Knight  of  To-day 
(1877)  ;  Miss  Toosey's  Mission;  Bel-Marjory  (1878)  ; 
Laddie;  Outcast  Bobbin,  or,  Tour  Brother  and  Mine;  A 
Cry  from  the  Great  City;White  Lillie  and  Other  Tales; 
Scamp  and  I;  The  Floating  Light  of  Ringfinnan;  Dot 
and  Her  Treasures;  The  Children's  Kingdom :  the  Story 
of  Great  Endeavor;  The  Water  Gipsies;  A  Dweller  in 
Tents;  Andrew  Harvey's  Wife;  Mou-setse:  A  Negro 
Hero  (1880);  Mother  Herring's  Chickens  (1881);  A 
London  Baby  :  the  Story  of  King  Roy  ( 1883) ;  Hermie's 
Rose-Buds  and  Other  Stories;  How  it  all  Came  Round; 
Two  Sisters (1884) ;  Autocrat  of  the  Nursery;  Tip  Cat; 
Scarlet  Anemones ;  The  Band  of  Three;  A  Little  Silver 
Trumpet;  Our  Little  Ann;  The  Angelof  Love  (1885) ;  A 
World  of  Girls  (1886) ;  Beforehand;  Daddy's  Boy;  The 
O'Donnells  of  Inchfawn;  The  Palace  Beautiful;  Sweet 
Nancy  (1887) ;  Deb  and  the  Duchess  (1888) ;  Nobody's 
Neighbors;  Pen  (1888);  A  Girl  from  America  (1907). 


,  *  , 


f 


THE  SCHOOL  QUEENS. 

CHAPTER    I. 
THE   FASCINATING   MAGGIE. 

CICELY  CARDEW  and  her  sister  Merry  were  twins.  At  the 
time  when  this  story  opens  they  were  between  fifteen  and 
sixteen  years  of  age.  They  were  bright,  amiable,  pretty 
young  girls,  who  had  never  wanted  for  any  pleasure  or 
luxury  during  their  lives.  Their  home  was  a  happy  one. 
Their  parents  were  affectionate  and  lived  solely  for  them. 
They  were  the  only  children,  and  were  treated — as  only 
children  often  are — with  a  considerable  amount  of  attention. 
They  were  surrounded  by  all  the  appliances  of  wealth.  They 
had  ponies  to  ride  and  carriages  to  drive  in,  and  each  had 
her  own  luxurious  and  beautifully  furnished  bedroom. 

It  was  Mr.  Cardew's  wish  that  his  daughters  should  be 
educated  at  home.  In  consequence  they  were  not  sent  to 
a«y  school,  but  had  daily  masters  and  governesses  to  instruct 
them  in  the  usual  curriculum  of  knowledge.  It  might  be 
truly  said  that  for  them  the  sun  always  shone,  and  that 
they  were  carefully  guarded  from  the  east  wind.  They  were 
naturally  bright  and  amiable.  They  had  their  share  of 
good  looks,  without  being  quite  beautiful.  They  had  not 
the  slightest  knowledge  of  what  the  world  meant,  of  what 
sorrow  meant,  or  pain.  They  were  brought  up  in  such  a 
sheltered  way  that  it  seemed  to  them  that  there  were  no 
storms  in  life.  They  were  not  discontented,  for  no  one  ever 
breathed  the  word  in  their  presence.  Their  requests  were 
reasonable,  for  they  knew  of  no  very  big  things  to  ask  for. 
Even  their  books  were  carefully  selected  for  them,  and  their 
amusements  were  of  a  mild  and  orderly  character. 

Such  were  the  girls  when  this  story  opens  on  a  bright  day 
towards  the  end  of  a  certain  July.  Their  home  was  called 
Meredith  Manor,  and  Merry  was  called  after  an  old  ancestor 
on  their  mother's  side  to  whom  the  house  had  at  one  time 
belonged. 

Mr.  Cardew  was  a  merchant-prince.  Mrs.  Cardew  belonged 
to  an  old  county  family.  If  there  was  one  thing  in  the 
world  that  Cicely  and  Merry  thought  nothing  whatever  about, 
it  was  money.  They  could  understand  neither  poverty  nor 
the  absence  of  gold. 

The  little  village  near  Meredith  Manor  was  a  model  place, 


2131241 


2  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

for  Mr.  Cardew,  to  whom  it  belonged,  devoted  himself  abso- 
lutely to  it.  The  houses  were  well  drained  and  taken  great 
care  of.  Prizes  were  offered  for  the  best  gardens;  conse- 
quently each  cottager  vied  with  the  other  in  producing  the 
most  lovely  flowers  and  the  most  tempting  fruits.  The  vil- 
lage consisted  entirely  of  Mr.  Gardew's  laborers  and  the  differ- 
ent servants  on  his  estate.  There  were,  therefore,  no  hard- 
ships for  the  girls  to  witness  at  Meredith  village.  They 
were  fond  of  popping  in  and  out  of  the  cottages  and  talking 
to  the  young  wives  and  nwthers,  and  playing  with  the  babies; 
and  they  particularly  enjoyed  that  great  annual  day  when 
Mr.  Cardew  threw  open  the  grounds  of  Meredith  to  the  entire 
neighborhood,  and  when  games  and  fun  and  all  sorts  of 
amusements  were  the  order  of  the  hour. 

Besides  the  people  who  lived  in  the  village,  there  was,  of 
course,  the  rect9r,  who  had  a  pretty,  picturesque,  old  brown 
house,  with  a  nice  garden  in  one  corner  of  the  grounds.  He 
had  a  good-natured,  round-faced,  happy  wife,  and  a  family 
of  four  stalwart  sons  and  daughters.  He  was  known  as  the 
Reverend  William  Tristram;  and,  as  the  living  was  in  the 
gift  of  the  Meredith  family,  he  was  a  distant  connection  of 
Mrs.  Gardew,  and  had  been  appointed  by  her  husband  to  the 
living  of  Meredith  at  her  request. 

The  only  playfellows  the  girls  had  ever  enjoyed  were  the 
young  Tristrams.  There  were  two  boys  and  two  girls.  The 
boys  were  the  younger,  the  girls  the  elder.  The  boys  were 
not  yet  in  their  teens,  but  Molly  and  Isabel  Tristram  were 
about  the  same  age  as  the  young  Cardews.  Molly  was,  in  fact, 
a  year  older,  and  was  a  very  sympathetic,  strong-minded, 
determined  girl.  She  and  her  sister  Isabel  had  not  been  edu- 
cated at  home,  but  had  been  sent  to  foreign  schools  both  in 
France  and  Germany;  and  Molly,  in  her  heart  of  hearts, 
rather  looked  down  upon  what  she  considered  the  meager 
attainments  of  the  young  Cardews  and  their  want  of  knowl- 
edge of  the  world. 

"It  is  ridicutous!"  she  was  heard  to  say  to  Isabel  on  that 
very  July  morning  when  this  story  opens.  "  Of  course  they 
are  nice  girls,  and  would  be  splendid  if  they  could  do  any- 
thing or  knew  what  to  do;  but,  as  it  is,  they  are  nothing 
whatever  but  half-grown-up  children,  with  no  more  idea  of 
the  world  than  has  that  baby-kitten  disporting  itself  at  the 
present  moment  on  the  lawn." 

"  Oh,  they're  right  enough,"  said  Isabel.  "  They  will  learn 
by-and-by.  I  don't  suppose  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cardew  mean  to 
keep  them  always  shut  up  in  a  nutshell." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Molly.  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cardew 
are  like  no  other  people.  I  have  heard  father  say  that  he 
thinks  it  a  great  pity  that  girls  should  be  so  terribly  iso- 
lated." 

"  Well,  as  to  that,"  replied  Isabel,  "  I  wouldn't  be  in  their 
shoes  for  creation.  I  have  so  enjoyed  my  time  at  Hanover 
and  in  France;  and  now  that  we  are  to  have  two  years  at 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  3 

Aylmer  House,  in  Kensington,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  look 
forward  to  it." 

"  Yes,  won't  it  be  fine?  "  replied  Molly.  "  But  now  we  had 
better  go  up  at  once  to  Meredith  Manor  and  ask  the  girls 
if  we  may  bring  Maggie  Rowland  with  us  this  afternoon. 
Father  has  sent  the  pony-trap  to  the  station  to  meet  her,  and 
she  may  arrive  any  moment." 

"All  right,"  said  Isabel;  "but  one  of  us  had  better  stay 
at  home  to  receive  her.  You,  Molly,  can  run  up  to  the 
Manor  and  ask  the  girls  if  we  may  bring  our  visitor." 

"  All  right,"  replied  Molly.  Then  she  added,  "  I  wonder 
if  Maggie  is  as  fascinating  as  ever.  Don't  you  remember, 
Belle,  what  a  spell  she  cast  over  us  at  our  school  at  Han- 
over? She  was  like  no  one  else  I  ever  met.  She  seems  to 
do  what  she  likes  with  people.  I  shall  be  deeply  interested 
to  know  what  she  thinks  of  Cicely  and  Merry." 

"Thinks  of  them!"  replied  Isabel.  "It's  my  opinion  she 
won't  tolerate  them  for  a  minute;  and  we  are  b9und  to  take 
her  with  us,  for  of  course  they  will  give  permission." 

"  Well,"  said  Molly,  "  I'll  be  off  at  once  and  secure  that 
permission.  You  look  after  Maggie — won't  you,  Isabel? — and 
see  that  her  bedroom  is  all  right."  As  Molly  spoke  she 
waved  her  hand  to  her  sister,  then  departed  on  her  errand. 

She  was  a  bright,  fairly  good-looking  girl,  with  exceed- 
ingly handsome  eyes  and  curling  dark-brown  hair.  She  was 
somewhat  square  in  build  and  athletic  in  all  her  movements. 
In  short,  she  was  as  great  a  contrast  to  the  twin  Cardew 
girls  as  could  be  found.  Nevertheless  she  liked  them,  and 
was  interested  in  them;  for  were  not  the  Cardews  the  great 
people  of  the  place?  There  was  nothing  of  the  snob  about 
Molly;  but  it  is  difficult  even  for  the  most  independent  Eng- 
lish girl  to  spend  the  greater  part  of  her  life  in  a  village 
where  one  family  reigns  as  sovereign  without  being  more 
or  less  under  its  influence. 

Mi1.  Tristram,  too,  was  a  very  great  friend  of  Mr.  Cardew's; 
and  Molly's  fat,  round,  good-natured  mother,  although  a 
little  afraid  of  Mrs.  Cardew,  who  was  a  very  stately  lady 
in  her  \yay,  nevertheless  held  her  in  the  greatest  respect  and 
admiration.  It  was  one  of  the  rules  of  the  house  of  Tris- 
tram that  no  invitation  sent  to  them  from  Meredith  Manor 
should  be  refused.  They  must  accept  that  invitation  as 
though  it  were  the  command  of  a  king. 

The  girls,  brought  up  mostly  at  foreign  schools,  had  in 
some  ways  wider  ideas  of  life  than  had  their  parents.  But 
even  they  were  more  or  less  influenced  by  the  fact  that  the 
Cardews  were  the  great  people  of  the  place. 

The  day  was  a  very  hot  one;  rather  oppressive  too,  with 
thunder-clouds  in  the  distance.  But  Molly  was  very  strong, 
and  did  not  feel  the  heat  in  the  least.  The  distance  from  the 
rectory  to  the  Manor  was  a  little  over  a  mile.  In  addition, 
it  was  all  uphill.  But  when  you  passed  the  village — so 
exquisitely  neat,  such  a  model  in  its  way — you  found  your- 


4  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

self  entering  a  road  shaded  by  overhanging  elm-trees.  Here 
it  was  cool  even  on  the  hottest  summer  day.  There  were 
deep  pine-woods  at  each  side  of  the  road,  and  the  road 
itself  had  been  cut  right  through  a  part  of  the  forest,  which 
belonged  to  the  Meredith  estate.  After  going  uphill  for 
nearly  three-quarters  of  a  mile  you  arrived  at  the  handsome 
wrought-iron  gates  which  led  to  the  avenue  that  brought 
you  to  the  great  front  door  of  Meredith  Manor. 

Molly  often  took  this  walk,  but  she  generally  did  so  in  the 
company  of  her  sister  Isabel.  Isabel's  light  chatter,  her 
gay,  infectious  laughter,  her  merry  manner,  soothed  the 
tedium  of  the  road.  To-day  Molly  was  alone;  but  by  no 
means  on  this  account  did  she  feel  a  sense  of  weariness;  her 
mind  was  very  busy.  She  was  greatly  excited  at  the  thought 
of  seeing  Maggie  Howland  again.  Maugie  had  made  a  re- 
markable impression  on  her.  She  made  that  impression  on 
all  her  friends.  Wherever  she  went  she  was  a  leader,  and  no 
one  could  quite  discover  where  her  special  charm  or  magnet- 
ism lay;  for  she  was  decidedly  plain,  and  not  specially  re- 
markable for  cleverness — that  is,  she  was  not  remarkable 
for  what  may  be  termed  school-cleverness.  She  was  indiffer- 
ent to  prizes,  and  was  just  as  happy  at  the  bottom  of  her 
form  as  at  the  top;  but  wherever  she  appeared  girls  clustered 
round  her,  and  consulted  her,  and  hung  on  her  words;  and 
to  be  Maggie  Howland's  friend  was  considered  the  greatest 
honor  possible  among  the  girls  themselves  at  any  school 
where  she  spent  her  time. 

Maggie  was  the  daughter  of  a  widow  who  lived  in  London. 
Her  father  had  died  when  she  was  a  very  little  girl.  He  was 
a  man  of  remarkable  character.  He  had  great  strength  of 
will  and  immense  determination;  and  Maggie,  his  only  child, 
took  after  him.  She  resembled  him  in  appearance  also,  for 
he  was  very  plain  of  face  and  rather  ungainly  of  figure. 
Maggie's  mother,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  delicate,  pretty, 
blue-eyed  woman,  who  could  as  little  manage  her  head- 
strong young  daughter  as  a  lamb  could  manage  a  young 
lion.  Mrs.  Howland  was  intensely  amiable,  Maggie  was 
very  good  to  her  mother,  as  she  expressed  it;  and  when 
she  got  that  same  mother  to  yield  to  all  her  wishes  the 
mother  thought  that  she  was  doing  the  right  thing.  She 
had  a  passionate  love  for  her  daughter,  although  she  de- 
plored her  plain  looks,  and  often  told  the  girl  to  her  face 
that  she  wished  she  had  taken  after  her  in  personal  ap- 
pearance. Maggie  used  to  smile  when  this  was  said,  and  then 
would  go  away  to  her  own  room  and  l9ok  at  her  queer,  dark 
face,  and  rather  small  eyes,  and  determined  mouth,  and  some- 
what heavy  jaw,  and  shake  her  head  solemnly.  She  did 
not  agree  with  her  mother;  she  preferred  being  what  she 
was.  She  liked  best  to  take  after  her  father. 

It  was  Maggie  Howland  who  had  persuaded  Mr.  Tristram, 
during  a  brief  visit  which  he  had  made  to  town  at  Christ- 
mas, to  send  his  daughters  to  Aylmer  House.  Maggie  was 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  5 

fond  of  Molly  and  Isabel.  With  all  her  oddities,  she  had 
real  affection,  and  one  of  her  good  qualities  was  that  she 
really  loved  those  whom  she  influenced. 

Mr.  Tristram  went  to  see  Mrs.  Ward,  the  head-mistress 
of  that  most  select  establishment  for  young  ladies  at  Ken- 
sington. Mrs.  Ward  was  all  that  was  delightful.  She  was 
a  noble-minded  woman  of  high  aspirations,  and  her  twenty 
young  boarders  were  happy  and  bright  and  contented  under 
her  influence. 

Maggie  joined  the  school  at  Easter,  and  spent  one  term 
there,  and  was  now  coming  on  a  visit  to  the  rectory. 

"I  wonder  what  she  will  have  to  tell  us!  I  wonder  if 
she  is  as  fascinating  as  ever!"  thought  Molly  Tristram  as 
she  hurried  her  steps. 

She  had  now  reached  that  point  in  the  avenue  which  gave 
a  good  view  of  the  old  Manor,  with  its  castellated  walls  and 
its  square  towers  at  each  end.  The  gardens  were  laid  out  in 
terraces  after  an  old-world  fashion.  There  was  one  terrace 
devoted  to  croquet,  another  to  tennis.  As  Molly  approached 
she  saw  Cicely  and  Merry  playing  a  game  of  croquet  rather 
languidly.  They  wore  simple  white  frocks  which  just  came 
down  above  their  ankles,  and  had  white  washing-hats  on 
their  heads.  Their  thick,  rather  fair  hair  was  worn  in  a 
plait  down  each  young  back,  and  was  tied  with  a  bunch  of 
pale-blue  ribbon  at  the  end. 

"Hello!"  shouted  Molly. 

The  girls  flung  down  their  rackets  and  ran  joyfully  to 
meet  her. 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come!"  said  Cicely.  "It's 
much  too  hot  to  play  tennis,  and  even  croquet  is  more  than 
we  can  manage.  Are  you  going  to  stay  and  have  lunch 
with  us,  Molly?" 

"  No,"  replied  Molly;  "  I  must  go  back  immediately." 

"Oh  dear!  I  wish  you  would  stay,"  continued  Merry. 
"  We  could  go  and  sit  in  the  arbor,  and  you  could  tell  us 
another  fascinating  story  about  that  school  of  yours  at  Han- 
over." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Cicely;  "do  stay — do,  Molly!  We  want 
to  hear  a  lot  more  about  that  remarkable  girl  Maggie  How- 
land." 

"  I  can't  stay,"  said  Molly  in  a  semi-whisper;  "  but  I  tell  you 
what,  girls."  She  seized  a  hand  of  both  as  she  spoke.  "  I 
have  come  with  news." 

"What?"     "What?"  asked  the  twins  eagerly. 

"  There's  very  seldom  much  news  going  on  here,"  said 
Cicely.  "  Not  that  we  mind — not  a  little  bit;  we're  as  happy 
as  girls  can  be." 

"  Of  course  we  are,"  said  Merry.  "  We  haven't  a  care  in 
the  world." 

"  All  the  same,"  said  Cicely,  "  tell  us  your  news,  Molly,  for 
you  do  look  excited." 

"  Well,"  said  Molly,  who  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  giving 


6  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

her  friends  a  piece  of  information  which  she  knew  would 
interest  them  intensely,  "you  know  we  are  to  come  up  here 
this  afternoon  to  have  tea  and  buns,  aren't  we?" 

"Oh,  don't  talk  in  that  way!"  said  Merry.  "One  would 
suppose  you  were  school  children,  when  you  are  our  darling, 
dear  friends." 

"  Our  only  friends,"  said  Cicely.  "  You  are  the  only  girls 
in  the  world  father  allows  us  to  be  the  least  bit  intimate 
with." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Molly,  "  of  course  Belle  and  I  are  very 
fond  of  you  both,  naturally." 

"Naturally!"  echoed  Cicely.  But  then  she  added,  "How 
queer  you  look,  Molly,  as  though  you  were  keeping  some- 
thing back! " 

"Well,  yes,  I  am,"  said  Molly;  "but  I'll  have  it  out  in 
a  minute." 

"Oh,  please,  be  quick!"  said  Merry.  "Anything  a  little 
bit  out  of  the  common  is  very  interesting. — Isn't  it,  Cicely?  " 

"  Very,"  said  Cicely;  "  more  particularly  in  the  holidays. 
When  we  are  busy  with  our  lessons  things  don't  so  much 
matter,  you  know. — But  do  be  quick,  Molly;  what  is  it?" 

"  Well,"  said  Molly,  "  you've  asked  us  to  spend  the  after- 
noon with  you." 

"  Of  course,  and  you're  both  coming,  surely?  " 

"  We  are — certainly  we  are — that  is,  if  you  will  allow  us 
to  bring  " 

"  To  bring  " interrupted  Cicely.     "  Oh  Molly,  do  speak!  " 

"Well,  I  will;  only,  don't  jump,  you  two  girls.  To  bring 
Maggie  Rowland!" 

Cicely's  face  grew  very  pink.  Merry,  on  the  contrary, 
turned  a  little  pale.  They  were  both  silent  for  a  brief 
space.  Then  Merry  said  excitedly,  "  Maggie  Howland — the 
Maggie  Howland?" 

"  Yes,  the  Maggie  Howland;  the  one  who  has  got  the  power, 
the  charm,  the  fascination." 

"Oh,  oh!"  said  Cicely.  "But  why  is  she  with  you?  How 
has  it  happened?" 

"  She  is  not  absolutely  with  us  yet;  and  as  to  how  it  hap- 
pened I  cannot  exactly  tell  you.  We  had  a  telegram  from  her 
late  last  night  asking  if  she  might  come  to-day  to  spend  a 
week  or  fortnight,  and  of  course  we  wired  back  "  Yes."  We 
are  delighted;  but  of  course  you  may  not  like  her,  girls." 

"  Like  her!  like  her! "  said  Cicely;  "  and  after  all  you  have 
said  too!  We  shall  be  certain  to  more  than  like  her." 

"  She's  not  a  bit  pretty,  so  don't  expect  it,"  said  Molly. 

"  We  were  brought  up,"  said  Merry  a  little  stiffly,  "  not  to 
regard  looks  as  anything  at  all." 

"Nonsense!"  replied  Molly.  "Looks  mean  a  great  deal. 
I'd  give  I  don't  know  what  to  be  beautiful;  but  as  I  am  not 
I  don't  mean  to  fret  about  it.  Well,  Maggie's  downright 
plain;  in  fact — in  fact — almost  ugly,  I  may  say;  and  yet — 
and  yet,  she  is  just  Maggie;  and  you  are  not  five  minutes  in 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  7 

ler  society  before  you'd  rather  have  her  face  than  any  other 
ace  in  the  world.  But  the  immediate  question  is:  may  sh» 
,ome  this  afternoon,  or  may  she  not?  " 

"  Of  course — of  course  she  may  come,"  said  Cicely;  "  we'll 
>e  delighted,  we'll  be  charmed  to  see  her.  This  is  pleasant 
lews ! " 

"  I  think,  perhaps,"  said  Merry,  "  we  ought  to  go  and  ask 
nother.  Don't  you  think  so,  Cis?" 

"  Of  course  we  ought,"  said  Cicely.  "  I  forgot  that.  Just 
stay  where  you  are,  Molly,  and  I'll  run  to  the  house  and 
Ind  mother.  It's  only  to  ask  her,  for  of  course  she  will  give 
eave." 

Cicely  ran  off  at  once,  and  Merry  and  Molly  were  left  alone. 

"  I  know  you'll  be  delighted  with  her,"  said  Molly. 

"  It  will  be  very  delightful  to  see  her,"  replied  Merry. 

"  You  must  expect  to  be  disappointed  at  first,  all  the  same," 
3ontinued  Molly. 

"  Oh,  looks  do  not  matter  one  scrap,"  said  Merry. 

"Isabel  and  I  are  going  to  her  school;  you  know  that, 
don't  you,  Me*rry?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Merry  with  a  sigh.  "  What  fun  you  do  have 
at  your  different  schools!  Don't  you,  Molly?" 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Molly  rather  gravely;  "but  it  isn't  only 
the  fun;  we  see  a  lot  of  the  world,  and  we  mix  with  other 
girls  and  make  friends." 

"Mother  prefers  a  home  education  for  us,  and  so  does 
father,"  remarked  Merry.  "Ah!  here  comes  Cicely.  She  is 
flying  down  the  terrace.  Of  course  mother  is  delighted." 

This  proved  to  be  the  case.  Mrs.  Cardew  would  welcome 
any  girl  introduced  to  her  daughters  through  her  dear  friend 
Mr.  Tristram.  She  sent  a  further  invitation  for  the  three 
young  people  to  remain  to  an  impromptu  supper,  which 
was  pleasanter  than  late  dinner  in  such  hot  weather,  and 
asked  if  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tristram  would  join  them  at  the  meal. 

"  Hurrah!  "  cried  Molly.  "  That  will  be  fun!  I  must  be  off 
now,  girls.  We'll  be  with  you,  all  three  of  us,  between  four 
and  five  o'clock." 


CHAPTER   II. 

SPOT- EAR. 


ISABEL  took  great  pains  arranging  Maggie  Howland's  bed- 
room. At  the  Castle  (or  Manor)  there  were  always  troops 
of  servants  for  every  imaginable  thing;  but  at  the  rectory 
the  servants  were  few,  and  the  girls  did  a  good  many  odds 
and  ends  of  work  themselves.  They  were  expected  to  dust 
and  keep  in  perfect  order  their  exceedingly  pretty  bedrooms, 
they  were  further  required  to  make  their  own  beds,  and  if  a 
young  visitor  arrived  they  were  obliged  to  wait  on  her  and 
see  to  her  comfort.  For  the  Tristrams  had  just  an  income 
sufficient  to  cover  their  expenses,  with  nothing  at  all  to  put 


8  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

by.  Mr.  Tristram  had  his  two  little  boys  to  think  of  as  well 
as  his  two  girls.  His  intention  was  to  give  his  children  the 
best  education  possible,  believing  that  such  a  gift  was  far 
more  valuable  to  them  than  mere  money.  By-and-by,  when 
they  were  old  enough,  the  girls  might  earn  their  own  living 
if  they  felt  so  inclined,  and  each  girl  might  become  a  spe- 
cialist in  her  way. 

Molly  was  exceedingly  fond  of  music,  and  wished  to  excel 
in  that  particular.  Isabel,  on  the  contrary,  was  anxious  to 
obtain  a  post  as  gymnasium  teacher  with  the  London  County 
Council.  But  all  these  things  were  for  the  future.  At  pres- 
ent the  girls  were  to  study,  were  to  acquire  knowledge,  were 
to  be  prepared  for  that  threefold  battle  which  includes  body, 
soul,  and  spirit,  and  which  needs  triple  armor  in  the  fight. 

Mr.  Tristram  was  a  man  of  high  religious  principles.  He 
taught  his  children  to  love  the  good  and  refuse  the  evil.  He 
wanted  his  girls  to  be  useful  women  by-and-by  in  the  world. 
He  put  usefulness  before  happiness,  assuring  his  children 
that  if  they  followed  the  one  they  would  secure  the  other. 

Belle,  therefore,  felt  quite  at  home  now  as  she  took  out 
pretty  mats  and  laid  them  on  little  tables  in  the  neat  spare 
room  which  had  been  arranged  for  the  reception  of  Maggie 
Rowland.  She  saw  that  all  the  appointments  of  the  room 
were  as  perfect  as  simplicity  and  cleanliness  could  effect, 
and  then  went  out  into  the  summer  garden  to  pick  some 
choice,  sweet-smelling  flowers.  She  selected  roses  and  car- 
nations, and,  bringing  them  in,  arranged  them  in  vases  in  the 
room. 

Hearing  the  sound  of  wheels,  she  flew  eagerly  downstairs 
and  met  her  friend  as  she  stepped  out  of  the  little  governess- 
cart. 

"Well,  here  I  am!"  said  Maggie.  "And  how  is  Belle? 
How  good-natured  of  you  all  to  have  me,  and  how  delight- 
ful it  is  to  smell  the  delicious  country  air!  Mother  and  I 
find  town  so  hot  and  stuffy.  I  haven't  brought  a  great  lot 
of  luggage,  and  I  am  not  a  bit  smart;  but  you  won't  mind 
that — will  you,  dear  old  Belle?  " 

"You  always  talk  about  not  being  smart,  Maggie;  but  you 
manage  to  look  smarter  than  anyone  else,"  said  Isabel,  her 
eager  brown  eyes  devouring  her  friend's  appearance  with 
much  curiosity.  For  Maggie  looked,  to  use  a  proverbial 
phrase,  as  if  she  had  stepped  out  of  a  bandbox.  If  she  was 
plain  of  face  she  had  an  exceedingly  neat  figure,  and  there 
was  a  fashionable,  trim  look  about  her  which  is  uncommon 
in  a  girl  of  her  age;  for  Maggie  was  only  just  sixteen,  and 
scarcely  looked  as  much.  In  some  ways  she  might  almost 
have  been  a  French  girl,  so  exceedingly  neat  and  comme  il 
faut  was  her  little  person.  She  was  built  on  a  petite  scale, 
and  although  her  face  was  so  plain,  she  had  lovely  hands 
and  beautiful  small  feet.  These  feet  were  always  shod  in 
the  most  correct  style,  and  she  took  care  of  her  hands,  never 
allowing  them  to  get  red  or  sunburnt. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  9 

"Where's  Molly?"  was  her  remark,  as  the  two  girls,  with 
their  arms  twined  round  each  other,  entered  the  wide,  low 
hall  which  was  one  of  the  special  features  of  the  old  rec- 
tory. 

"  She  has  gone  up  to  see  the  Gardews." 

"Who  are  the  Cardews?" 

"  Why,  surely,  Mags,  you  must  have  heard  of  them?  " 

"  You  don't  mean,"  said  Maggie  with  a  laugh,  and  showing 
a  gleam  of  strong  white  teeth,  "  the  two  little  ladies  who 
live  in  a  bandbox?  " 

"  Oh,  you  really  must  not  laugh  at  them,"  said  Isabel,  im- 
mediately on  the  defensive  for  her  friends;  "  but  they  do  lead 
a  somewhat  exclusive  life.  Molly  has  gone  up  to  the  Castle, 
as  we  always  call  Meredith  Manor,  to  announce  your  arrival, 
and.  to  ask  permission  to  bring  you  there  to  a  tennis-party 
this  afternoon;  so  you  will  soon  see  them  for  yourself.  Now, 
come  in  and  say  good-morning  to  the  mater;  she  is  longing 
to  see  you." 

"Hello,  Peterkins!"  called  out  Maggie  at  that  moment,  as 
a  small  boy  with  a  smut  across  his  face  suddenly  peeped 
round  a  door. 

"I'm  not  Peterkins!"  he  said  angrily. 

Maggie  laughed  again.  "  I  am  going  to  call  you  Peterkins," 
she  said.  "  Is  this  one  of  the  little  brothers,  Belle?" 

"  Yes. — Come  here  at  once,  Andrew,  and  speak  to  Miss 
Rowland." 

The  boy  approached  shyly.  Then  his  eyes  looked  up  into 
the  queer  face  of  the  girl  who  looked  down  at  him.  The 
sulkiness  cleared  away  from  his  brow,  and  he  said,  in  an 
eager,  hurried,  half-shy,  half-confidential  way,  "I  say,  do 
you  like  rabbits?" 

"  Dote  on  'em,"  said  Maggie. 

"Then  I'm  your  man,  and  I  don't  mind  being  Peterkins 
to  you;  and  will  you — will  you  come  and  see  mine?  I've  got 
Spot-ear,  and  Dove,  and  Angelus,  and  Clover.  And  Jack,  he 
has  five  rabbits,  but  they're  not  near  as  nice  as  mine.  You'll 
come  and  see  my  rabbits,  won't  you,  Miss — Miss " 

"  Oh,  I  am  Maggie,"  said  the  girl.  "  I'll  come  and  see  your 
rabbits,  Peterkins,  in  a  minute;  and  I  won't  look  at  Jack's; 
but  you  must  let  me  talk  to  your  mother  first." 

"  There  you  are,  Maggie,"  said  Belle  when  the  boy  had 
disappeared;  "fascinating  Andrew  in  your  usual  way;  and 
Jack  will  be  just  furious,  for  he's  the  elder,  you  know,  and 
he  has  a  temper,  and  you  mustn't  set  one  of  them  against 
the  other — promise  you  won't. 

"  Trust  me,"  said  Maggie.  "  Peterkins  is  a  nice  little  fel- 
low, and  I'll  manage  Jackdaw  too." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you'll  call  them  by  those  names?" 

"  Yes,  yes.  I  always  have  my  own  way  with  people,  as 
you  know." 

"  Indeed  I  do.  Oh,  come  along,  you  queer  creature.  Here's 
the  darling  mums.  Mater  dearest,  here  is  Maggie  Howland." 
Ik 


10  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  Delighted  to  see  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Tristram.  "  I 
hope  you  are  not  tired  after  your  journey  from  town." 

"  Not  in  the  least,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Tristram,"  said  Maggie, 
speaking  in  a  voice  of  very  peculiar  quality;  it  was  sweet 
and  rich  and  full  of  many  intonations.  She  had  the  power 
of  putting  a  world  of  meaning  into  the  most  commonplace 
expressions. 

Mrs.  Tristram  had  not  seen  Maggie  before,  and  it  was  Mr. 
Tristram  who  had  been  completely  bowled  over  by  the  young 
lady  just  at  Christmas-time. 

"  I  bid  you  a  hearty  welcome  to  the  rectory,"  said  the  good 
clergyman's  wife,  "  and  I  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  time 
with  my  children." 

"I'll  have  a  fascinating  time,"  said  Maggie.  "I'm  just 
too  delighted  to  come.  It  was  sweet  of  you  to  have  me;  and 
may  I,  please,  give  you  a  kiss?" 

"  Of  course  you  may,  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Tristram. 

Maggie  bestowed  the  kiss,  and  immediately  afterward  was 
conducted  to  her  room  by  the  worshiping  Belle. 

"  I  do  hope  you'll  like  it,"  said  Belle  in  an  almost  timorous 
voice.  "  I  prepared  it  for  you  myself." 

"  Why,  it's  sweet,"  said  Maggie,  "  and  so  full  of  the  coun- 
try! Oh,  I  say,  what  roses!  And  those  carnations — Mal- 
maisons,  aren't  they?  I  must  wear  a  couple  in  this  brown 
holland  frock;  they'll  tone  with  it  perfectly.  What  a  deli- 
cious smell! " 

Maggie  sniffed  at  the  roses.  Belle  lounged  on  the  window- 
seat. 

"  Molly  will  be  jealous,"  she  said.  "  Think  of  my  having 
you  these  few  moments  all  to  myself!" 

"  I  am  delighted  to  come,  as  you  know  quite  well,"  re- 
plied Maggie.  "  It's  all  right  about  school,  isn't  it,  Belle?  " 

"  Yes,  quite,  quite  right.  We  are  to  join  you  there  in 
September." 

"  It's  a  perfectly  splendid  place,"  said  Maggie.  "  I  will 
describe  it  to  you  later  on." 

"  But  can  it  be  nicer,"  said  Belle,  "  than  our  darling  school 
at  Hanover?  " 

"Nicer!"  exclaimed  Maggie.  "You  couldn't  compare  the 
two  places.  I  tell  you  it's  perfect.  The  girls — well,  they're 
aristocratic;  they're  girls  of  the  Upper  Ten.  It's  the  most 
select  school.  You  are  in  luck  to  be  admitted,  I  can  tell  you. 
You  will  learn  a  lot  about  society  when  you  are  a  member 
of  Mrs.  Ward's  school." 

"  But  what  possible  good  will  that  do  us  when  we  are 
never  going  into  it?  "  said  Belle. 

Maggie  slightly  narrowed  her  already  narrow  eyes,  took 
off  her  hat,  and  combed  back  her  crisp,  dark  hair  from  her 
low,  full,  very  broad  forehead.  Then  she  said,  with  a  smile. 
"  You  are  to  stay  two  years  at  Mrs.  Ward's,  are  you  not?  " 

"  Yes  I  think  that  is  the  arrangement." 

"And  I  am  to  stay  there  for  two  years,"  said  Maggie;  "I 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  11 

mean  two  more.  I  will  ask  you,  Isabel  Tristram,  what  good 
society  is  worth  at  the  end  of  your  two  years.  I  expect  you 
will  tell  me  a  very  different  story  then." 

At  this  moment  there  came  a  hurried,  nervous,  excited 
knock  at  the  room  door. 

"Aren't  you  coming,  Miss — Miss — Maggie?  Clover  and 
Dove  and  Spot-ear  and  Angelus  are  all  waiting.  Their  hutch 
is  beautiful  and  clean,  and  I  have  all  their  lettuces  waiting 
for  them  just  outside,  so  they  sha'n't  begin  to  nibble  till 
you  come.  Do,  do  come,  please,  Miss  Maggie." 

"  Of  course  I  will,  my  darling  Peterkins,"  replied  Maggie 
in  her  joyful  voice.  "Oh,  this  is — this  is — this  is  fun! — 
Come  along,  Belle;  come  along." 

"  But  don't  let  poor  Jack  get  into  a  temper,"  said  Isabel 
in  a  half-frightened  whisper. 

Maggie  took  no  notice  of  her.  She  opened  the  bedroom 
door  and  flew  downstairs,  holding  the  dirty,  hot  little  hand 
of  Andrew,  alias  Peterkins,  while  Isabel  followed  in  their 
wake. 

In  a  far-away  part  of  the  rectory  garden,  on  a  bit  of  waste 
land  at  the  other  side  of  the  great  vegetable  garden,  were  two 
hutches  which  stood  side  by  side,  and  these  hutches  con- 
tained those  most  adorable  creatures,  the  pets,  the  darlings 
of  the  Tristram  boys. 

The  Tristram  boys  were  aged  eleven  and  ten  years  re- 
spectively. Jack  was  eleven,  Andrew  ten.  They  were  very 
sturdy,  healthy,  fine  little  fellows.  At  present  they  went  to 
a  good  day-school  in  the  neighborhood,  but  were  to  be  sent 
to  a  boarding-school  about  the  same  time  as  their  sisters 
were  to  begin  their  education  at  Aylmer  House  in  Kensing- 
ton. Their  passion  above  all  things  was  for  pets.  They  had 
tried  every  sort:  white  mice  (these  somehow  or  other  were 
sacrificed  to  the  reigning  cat)  and  waltzing  mice  (that  shared 
an  equally  luckless  fate) ;  these  were  followed  by  white  rats, 
which  got  into  the  garden  and  did  mischief,  and  were  ban- 
ished by  order  of  the  rector,  who  was  a  most  determined 
master  in  his  own  house.  Dogs  were  also  forbidden,  except 
one  very  intelligent  Airedale,  that  belonged  to  the  whole 
family  and  to  no  one  in  particular.  But  the  boys  must  find 
vent  for  their  passion  in  some  way,  and  rabbits  were  allowed 
them.  At  the  present  moment  Jack  owned  five,  Andrew  four. 

In  trembling  triumph,  Andrew  brought  his  new  friend  to 
see  his  darlings.  He  greatly  hoped  that  Jack  would  not 
appear  on  the  scene  just  now.  While  Maggie  was  up  in  her 
bedroom  taking  off  her  hat,  he  had,  with  herculean  strength, 
managed  to  move  an  old  wooden  door  and  put  it  in  such 
a  position  that  Jack's  hutch  was  completely  hidden,  while 
his  hutch  shone  forth  in  all  its  glory,  with  those  fascinat- 
ing creatures  Spot-ear,  Angelus,  Dove,  and  Clover  looking 
through  their  prison-bars  at  the  tempting  meal  that  awaited 
them. 

"  Here  they  are!  here  they  are!  "  said  Andrew.    "  Beauties, 


12  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

all  four;  my  own — rry  very  own!  Maggie,  you  may  share 
one  of  them  with  me  while  you  are  here.  He  must  live  in 
his  hutch,  but  he  shall  be  yours  and  mine.  Would  you  like 
Spot-ear?  He  is  a  character.  He's  the  finest  old  cove  you 
ever  came  across  in  your  life.  Look  at  him  now,  pretend- 
ing he  doesn't  care  anything  at  all  for  his  lettuce,  and  he's 
just  dying  fo:>  it.  Clover  is  the  greedy  one.  Clover  would 
eat  till  he  burst  if  I  let  him.  As  to  Angelus,  she  squeaks 
sometimes — you'll  hear  her  if  you  listen  hard — that's  why  I 
called  her  Angelus;  and  Dove — why,  she's  a  dear  pet;  but 
the  character  of  all  is  Spot-ear.  You'd  like  to  share  him 
with  me,  wouldn't  you,  Maggie?  " 

"Yes,  yes;  he  is  so  ugly;  he  is  quite  interesting,"  said 
Maggie.  She  flung  herself  on  the  ground  by  the  side  of  the 
hutch,  and  gazed  in  at  the  occupants  as  though  her  only  aim 
in  life  was  to  worship  rabbits. 

"  You  take  that  leaf  of  lettuce  and  give  it  to  Spot-ear  your 
very  own  self,"  said  Peterkins.  "  He'll  love  you  ever  after; 
he's  a  most  affectionate  old  fellow." 

Maggie  .proceeded  to  feed  the  rabbit.  Peterkins  hopped 
about  in  a  state  of  excitement  which  he  had  seldom  ex- 
perienced before.  Maggie  asked  innumerable  questions. 
Belle  seated  herself  on  the  fallen  trunk  of  an  old  oak-tree 
and  looked  on  in  wonder. 

Maggie  was  a  curious  girl.  She  seemed  to  have  a  power 
over  every  one.  There  was  Andrew — such  a  shy  little  fel- 
low as  a  rule — simply  pouring  out  his  heart  to  her. 

Suddenly  Belle  rose.  "  It's  time  for  lunch,"  she  said,  "  and 
you  must  be  hungry.  Andrew,  go  straight  to  the  house  and 
wash  your  face  and  hands.  No  lady  would  sit  down  to  lunch 
with  such  a  dirty  boy  as  you  are." 

"Oh,  I  say,  am  I?"  said  Andrew.  "Do  you  think  so, 
Maggie?  " 

"  You  are  a  most  disreputable-looking  little  scamp,"  said 
Maggie. 

"  Then  I  won't  be — I  won't,  most  truly.  I'll  run  off  at 
once  and  get  clean,  and  I'll  get  into  my  Sunday  best  if  you 
wish  it." 

"  Dear  me,  no!  "  said  Maggie;  "  I  don't  wish  it.  But  clean 
hands,  and  face — well,  they  are  essential  to  the  ordinary 
British  boy,  if  he's  a  gentleman." 

"  I  am  your  gentleman — for  evermore,"  said  Andrew. 

"  I  think  you  are,  Peterkins." 

"  Then  I'm  off  to  clean  up,"  said  the  small  boy. 

"I  say,  Andrew,"  cried  his  sister;  "before  you  go  take 
that  door  away  from  Jack's  hutch.  He'll  be  so  furious  at 
your  keeping  the  light  and  air  away  from  his  rabbits." 

"  Not  I.    I  can't  be  bothered,"  said  Peterkins. 

"  Please  take  it  away  at  once,"  said  Maggie. 

Andrew's  brow  puckered  into  a  frown. 

"But  you'll  see  'em,  and  he's  got  five!"  he  said  in  a  most 
distressed  voice. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  13 

"  Honor  bright,"  said  Maggie,  "  I'll  turn  my  back  and  shut 
my  eyes.  Jackdaw  shall  show  me  his  rabbits  himself." 

Peterkins  immediately  removed  the  door,  dragging  it  to 
its  former  place,  where  it  leaned  against  a  high  wall.  He 
then  rushed  up  to  Maggie. 

"  I've  done  it,"  he  said.  "  Promise  you  won't  like  his 
bunnies." 

"  Can't,"  said  Maggie,  "  for  I'll  love  'em." 

"  Well,  at  least  promise  you  won't  love  him." 

"  Can't,"  said  Maggie  again,  "  for  I  shall." 

"  I'll  die  of  raging  jealousy,"  said  Peterkins. 

"  No,  you  won't,  you  silly  boy.  Get  off  to  the  house  and 
make  yourself  tidy.  Come  along,  Belle." 

"  I  say,  Maggie,"  said  Belle,  "  you  mustn't  set  those  two 
boys  by  the  ears.  They're  fond  enough  of  each  other." 

"  Of  course  I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Maggie. 
"  That's  a  charming  little  chap,  and  Spot-ear  is  my  rabbit 
as  well  as  his.  Jackdaw  shall  share  two  of  his  rabbits  with 
me.  Oh,  it  is  such  fun  turning  people  round  your  little 
finger! " 

Just  then  Molly,  rather  red  in  the  face,  ran  up. 

"Oh,  you  darling,  darling  Maggie!"  she  said.  "So  you've 
come! " 

"Come!"  cried  Maggie.  "I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  here  for 
ever." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,"  said  Molly. 

She  kissed  her  friend  rapturously.  Maggie  presented  a 
cool,  firm,  round  cheek. 

"Oh,  how  sweet  you  look,  Mags!" 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,  Molly;  I'm  not  a  bit  sweet-looking." 

"  To  me,"  said  Molly  with  fervor,  "  you're  the  loveliest  girl 
in  all  the  wide  world." 

"  I'm  very  ugly,  and  you  know  that  perfectly  well,"  said 
Maggie;  "  but  now  don't  let's  talk  of  looks." 

"  Whatever  were  you  doing  in  this  part  of  the  garden?  " 
inquired  Molly. 

"  Oh,  she  was  making  love  to  Andrew,"  remarked  Belle. 
"  She  calls  him  Peterkins,  and  he  allows  it,  and  he  has  given 
her  one-half  of  Spot-ear;  and  she  means  to  make  love  to 
Jack,  and  he's  to  give  her  a  couple  of  his  rabbits — I  mean,  to 
share  them  with  her.  She's  more  extraordinary  than  ever, 
more  altogether  out  of  the  common." 

"As  if  I  didn't  know  that,"  said  Molly.  "It's  all  right 
about  this  afternoon,  Maggie.  Oh,  what  do  you  think?  We're 
to  stay  to  supper,  and  I  have  a  special  invitation  for  father 
and  mother  to  come  and  join  us  then.  Won't  it  be  fun!  I 
do  wonder,  Maggie,  if  you  will  like  the  Cardew  girls." 

"  Probably  not,"  replied  Maggie  in  a  very  calm  voice;  "but 
at  least  I  can  promise  you  one  thing:  they'll  both  like 
me." 

"No  doubt  whatever  on  that  point,"  replied  Belle  with 
fervor. 


14  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

They  entered  the  house,  and  soon  found  themselves  seated 
round  the  table.  Mr.  Tristram  greeted  Maggie  with  his  usual 
gentle  dignity.  Molly  delivered  herself  of  her  message  from 
the  Castle.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tristram  said  that  they  would  be 
delighted  to  join  the  Cardews  at  supper. 

The  meal  was  proceeding  cheerfully,  and  Maggie  was  en- 
tertaining her  host  and  hostess  by  just  those  pleasant  little 
pieces  of  information  which  an  exceedingly  well-bred  girl 
can  impart  without  apparently  intending  to  do  so,  when  a 
shy  and  very  clean  little  figure  glided  into  the  room,  a  pair 
of  bright-brown  eyes  looked  fixedly  at  Maggie,  and  then 
glared  defiance  at  Belle,  who  happened  to  be  seated  near 
that  adorable  young  person. 

Peterkins  was  making  up  his  mind  that  in  future  that 
coveted  seat  should  be  his — for  he  and  Maggie  could  talk  in 
whispers  during  the  meal  about  Spot-ear,  Angelus,  and  the 
rest — when  his  father  said,  "  Sit  down,  my  boy;  take  your 
place  at  once.  You  are  rather  late." 

The  boy  slipped  into  his  seat. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  looking  so  tidy,  Andrew,"  said  his 
mother  approvingly. 

Andrew  looked  across  at  Maggie.  Maggie  did  not  once 
glance  at  him.  She  was  talking  in  her  gentle,  lady-like  tone 
to  the  rector. 

Presently  another  boy  came  in,  bigger  and  broader  than 
Andrew. 

Andrew  said  in  a  raised  voice,  "  Here's  Jack,  and  his  hands 
aren't  a  bit  clean." 

"  Hush !  "  said  the  rector. 

Jack  flushed  and  looked  defiantly  at  Maggie. 

Maggie  raised  her  eyes  and  gave  him  a  sweet  glance.  "  Are 
you  really  Jack?  "  she  said.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  know  you.  I 
have  been  making  friends  with  your  brother  Andrew,  whom 
I  call  Peterkins.  I  want  to  call  you  Jackdaw.  May  I?" 

Jack  felt  a  great  lump  in  his  throat.  His  face  was  scarlet. 
He  felt  unable  to  speak,  but  he  nodded. 

"  I  have  been  looking  at  Peterkins's  rabbits,"  continued 
Maggie.  "  I  want  to  see  yours  after  lunch." 

"They're  beauties!"  burst  from  Jack.  "  They're  ever  so 
many  times  better  than  Andrew's.  I've  got  a  cream-colored 
Angora.  His  name  is  Fanciful,  and  I've  got ' 

"Hush,  my  boy,  hush!"  said  the  rector.  "Not  so  much 
talking  during  meals.  Well,  Maggie,  my  dear — we  must,  of 
course,  call  you  by  your  Christian  name " 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Tristram;  I  should  indeed  feel  strange  if 
you  didn't." 

"  We  are  delighted  to  see  you,"  continued  the  rector,  "  and 
you  must  tell  the  girls  all  about  your  new  school." 

"  And  you  too,  sir,"  said  Maggie,  in  her  soft,  rich  voice. 
"Oh!  you'll  be  delighted — delighted;  there  never  was  such 
a  woman  as  Mrs.  Ward." 

"  I  took  a  very  great  liking  to  her,"  said  the  rector.     "  I 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  15 

think  my  girls  fortunate  to  be  placed  under  her  care.     She 
has  been  good,  very  good  and  kind,  to  me  and  mine." 

"  I  wonder  what  he  means  by  that,"  thought  Maggie;  but 
she  made  no  remark  aloud. 


CHAPTER   III. 

LADY  LYSLE. 

AT  about  a  quarter  to  four  that  same  afternoon  three  girls 
prepared  to  walk  over  to  Meredith  Manor.  It  was  for  such 
golden  opportunities  that  Molly  and  Isabel  kept  their  best 
frocks;  it  was  for  just  such  occasions  that  they  arrayed 
themselves  most  neatly  and  becomingly.  Their  dress,  it  must 
be  owned,  was  limited  in  quantity  and  also  in  quality;  but 
on  the  present  occasion,  in  their  pretty  white  spotted  muslins, 
with  pale-blue  sashes  round  their  waists  and  white  muslin 
hats  to  match,  they  looked  as  charming  a  young  pair  of 
English  girls  as  could  be  found  in  the  length  and  breadth 
of  the  land.  It  is  true  their  feet  were  not  nearly  as  per- 
fectly shod  as  Maggie's,  nor  were  their  gloves  quite  so  im- 
maculate; but  then  they  were  going  to  play  tennis,  and  shoes 
and  gloves  did  not  greatly  matter  in  the  country.  Maggie 
thought  otherwise.  Her  tan  tennis-shoes  exactly  toned  with 
her  neatly  fitting  brown  holland  dress.  The  little  hat  she 
wore  on  her  head  was  made  of  brown  straw  trimmed  very 
simply  with  ribbon;  it  was  an  ugly  hat,  but  on  Maggie's  head 
it  seemed  to  complete  her  dress,  to  be  a  part  of  her,  so  that 
no  one  noticed  in  the  least  what  she  wore  except  that  she 
looked  all  right. 

Two  boys  with  worshiping  eyes  watched  the  trio  as  they 
stepped  down  the  rectory  avenue  and  disappeared  from  view. 
Two  boys  fought  a  little  afterward,  but  made  it  up  again, 
and  then  lay  on  the  grass  side  by  side  and  discussed  Maggie, 
pulling  her  to  pieces  in  one  sense,  but  adoring  her  all  the 
same. 

Meanwhile  the  girls  themselves  chatted  as  girls  will  when 
the  heart  is  light  and  there  is  no  care  anywhere.  It  was 
very  hot,  even  hotter  than  it  had  been  in  the  morning;  but 
when  they  reached  the  road  shaded  so  beautifully  by  the 
elm-trees  they  found  a  delicious  breeze  which  fanned  their 
faces.  Somehow,  Maggie  never  seemed  to  suffer  from 
weather  at  all.  She  was  never  too  cold;  she  was  never  too 
hot;  she  was  never  ill;  no  one  had  ever  heard  her  complain 
of  ache  or  pain.  She  was  always  joyous,  except  when  she 
was  sympathizing  with  somebody  else's  sorrow,  and  then  her 
sympathy  was  detached — that  is,  it  did  not  make  her  per- 
sonally sad,  although  it  affected  and  helped  the  person  who 
was  the  recipient  of  it  to  a  most  remarkable  extent.  One 
of  Maggie's  great  attractions  was  her  absolute  health,  her 
undiminished  strength,  the  fact  that  she  could  endure  almost 
any  exertion  without  showing  a  trace  of  fatigue. 


16  THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Molly  and  Isabel  were  also  strong,  hearty,  well-made 
girls,  and  the  excitement  of  this  expedition  caused  them  to 
chatter  more  volubly  than  usual.  Maggie  had  a  good  deal 
to  tell  them  with  regard  to  the  new  school,  and  they  had  a 
great  deal  to  tell  her  with  regard  to  the  Gardews. 

Just  as  they  were  entering  the  avenue  Maggie  turned  and 
faced  her  two  companions.  "May  I  say  something?"  she 
asked  eagerly. 

"  Why,  of  course,  Mags,"  said  Molly. 

"  Well,  it's  this :  from  what  you  told  me  of  your  friends, 
they  must  be  the  most  profoundly  uninteresting  girls." 

"  Oh  no,  indeed  they  are  not! "  said  Isabel  stanchly. 
"  Merry  has  a  great  deal  in  her,  and  Cicely  is  so  nice-looking  I' 
We  think  she  will  be  beautiful  by-and-by;  but  Merry  un- 
doubtedly has  the  most  character.  Then  there  is  something 
dignified  and  aristocratic  about  them,  and  yet  they  are  not 
really  proud,  although  they  might  be,  for  they  are  so  rich, 
and  Meredith  Manor  is  such  a  wonderful  old  house." 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me,"  said  Maggie,  "  that  Meredith  Manor 
belonged  to  Mrs.  Cardew?  " 

"Did  I?"  said  Isabel,  coloring  in  some  confusion.  "I  am 
sure  I  don't  know;  I  don't  remember  saying  it.  I  don't  think 
Mrs.  Cardew  is  the  sort  of  woman  who  would  call  anything 
hers  apart  from  her  husband.  She  is  devoted  to  him,  and 
no  wonder,  for  he  is  quite  charming.  He  is  nearly  as  charm- 
ing as  father,  and  that's  saying  a  great  deal." 

"  Do  let's  come  on.    We'll  be  late! "  said  Molly  impatiently. 

"  No,  not  quite  yet,  please,"  said  Maggie.  "  I  want  to  un- 
derstand the  position.  Mrs.  Cardew  was  a  Miss  Meredith?  " 

"Yes,  dear  Maggie;  but  what  does  that  matter?" 

"  And,"  continued  Maggie,  "  she  was  the  heiress  of  Mer- 
edith Manor?" 

"  I  suppose  so.    Father  can  tell  you  exactly." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  question  him,  but  I  want  to  get  my 
bearings.  On  the  mother's  side,  the  Cardew  girls  belong  to 
the  country.  Isn't  that  so?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes.    Do  come  on." 

"But  their  father,"  continued  Maggie,  "he  is  in  trade, 
isn't  he?" 

"He's  a  perfect  gentleman,"  said  Isabel  stoutly;  "no  one 
looks  down  on  trade  in  these  days." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  adore  trade  myself,"  said  Maggie.  She 
now  proceeded  to  walk  very  slowly  up  the  avenue.  She  was 
evidently  thinking  hard.  After  a  time  she  said,  "  I  mean  to 
get  those  girls  to  come  to  school  with  you,  Molly,  and  with 
you,  Isabel,  in  September." 

Both  the  Tristrams  burst  into  a  peal  of  merry  laughter. 
"Oh  Mags!"  they  cried,  "we  never  did  think  before  that 
you  were  conceited.  You  certainly  overrate  even  your  pow- 
ers when  you  imagine  that  you  will  get  Mr.  Cardew  to  change 
his  mind." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  his  changing  his  mind?" 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  17 

"  Why,  this,"  said  Belle.  "  He  has  set  his  face  from  the 
very  first  against  his  girls  leaving  home.  He  wishes  them  to 
have  a  home  education,  and  that  alone." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  said  Maggie  cheerfully.  "  Well, 
what  will  you  bet,  girls,  that  I  have  my  way?" 

"  We  don't  want  you  to  lose,  Maggie;  but  you  certainly 
will  not  get  your  way  in  this  particular." 

"Well,  now,  I  am  going  to  be  generous.  I  am  not  rich; 
but  I  have  got  two  gold  bracelets  at  home,  and  I  will  give 
one  to  each  of  you  for  your  very  own  if  I  succeed  in  bringing 
Cicely  and  Merry  Cardew  to  Mrs.  Ward's  school." 

"Oh!  oh!"  exclaimed  both  the  Tristram  girls. 

"  You'll  get  your  bracelets,"  said  Maggie  in  a  most  con- 
fident tone,  "and  I  can  assure  you  they  are  beauties;  my 
darling  father  brought  them  from  India  years  and  years  ago. 
He  brought  a  lot  of  jewels  for  mother  and  me,  and  I  will 
get  the  bracelets  for  you — one  each — if  I  succeed;  but  you 
must  allow  me  to  manage  things  my  own  way." 

"  But  you  won't  do  anything — anything — to  upset  the  Car- 
dews?"  said  Isabel. 

"Upset  them!"  said  Maggie.  "Well,  yes,  I  do  mean  to 
upset  them.  I  mean  to  alter  their  lives;  I  mean  to  turn 
things  topsyturvy  for  them;  but  I'll  manage  it  in  such  a 
fashion  that  neither  you,  nor  Molly,  nor  your  father,  nor 
your  mother,  nor  anyone  will  suspect  how  I  have  got  my 
way,  but  get  it  I  will.  I  thought  I'd  tell  you,  that's  all. 
You'd  like  to  have  them  at  school  with  you,  wouldn't  you?" 

"  Oh  yes,  very  much  indeed,"  said  Molly. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  said  Isabel.  "  It's  rather  fun  coming 
baek  to  the  rectory  in  the  holidays  and  telling  the  Cardew 
girls  all  about  what  we  do  and  how  we  spend  our  time. 
There'll  be  nothing  to  tell  them  if  we  all  go  to  the  same 
school." 

"  Well,"  said  Maggie,  "  I  don't  agree  with  you.  I  expect, 
on  the  contrary,  you'll  find  a  vast  lot  more  to  talk  about.  But 
come,  let's  hurry  now;  I  want  to  be  introduced  to  them,  for 
I  have  no  time  to  lose." 

Neither  Isabel  nor  Molly  could  quite  make  out  why  they 
felt  a  certain  depression  after  Maggie  Howland  had  ex- 
plained her  views.  The  thought  of  the  possible  possession 
of  the  bracelets  did  not  greatly  elate  them.  Besides,  there 
was  not  the  most  remote  chance  of  even  such  a  fascinating 
young  person  as  Maggie  succeeding  in  her  project.  She 
would  meet  her  match,  if  not  in  Mrs.  Cardew,  then  in  Mr. 
Cardew.  There  was  no  doubt  whatever  on  that  point.  But 
they  greatly  wished  she  would  not  try.  They  did  not  want 
her  io  upset  the  placid  existence  of  their  young  friends. 
The  girls  who  lived  at  the  Castle,  the  girls  who  pursued  their 
sheltered,  happy,  refined  life,  were  in  a  manner  mysterious 
and  remote  to  the  young  Tristrams,  and  they  thought  that 
they  would  not  love  them  any  more  if  they  were  brought  into 
closer  contact  with  them. 


18  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

A  turn  in  the  avenue  now  brought  the  old  manor-house 
into  view.  Some  friends  of  Mrs.  Cardew's  had  arrived,  but 
there  were  no  other  young  people  to  be  seen.  Cicely  and 
Merry  were  standing  talking  to  a  lady  of  middle  age  who 
had  come  to  pay  an  afternoon  call,  when  Cicely  found  herself 
changing  color  and  glancing  eagerly  at  Merry. 

"  Oh,  will  you  excuse  me?"  she  said  in  her  pretty,  refined 
voice.  "  Our  special  friends  the  Tristrams,  the  rector's 
daughters,  and  a  friend  of  theirs,  a  Miss  Howland,  are  com- 
ing up  the  avenue." 

"Certainly,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Lysle;  and  Cicely  and 
Merry  were  off  down  the  avenue  like  arrows  from  the  bow 
to  meet  their  friends. 

Lady  Lysle  watched  the  two  girls,  and  then  turned  to 
speak  to  Mrs.  Cardew. 

"What  name  was  that  I  heard  Cicely  say?"  was  her 
remark.  "  Of  course  I  know  the  Tristrams,  but  who  was 
the  girl  who  was  with  them?" 

"A  special  friend  of  theirs,  a  Miss  Howland.  She  has 
been  their  school  companion  abroad.  She  is  staying  with 
them  at  the  rectory.  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Lady  Lysle? 
Do  you  know  anything  about  her?  " 

"  I  don't  know  her,"  said  Lady  Lysle,  "  but  I  know  a 
little  bit  about  her  mother.  I  should  not  have  supposed 
the  Tristram  girls  and  Miss  Howland  were  in  the  same 
set." 

"Why,  what  is  wrong?"  said  Mrs.  Cardew,  who  was  ex- 
ceedingly particular  as  regarded  the  people  whom  her  daugh- 
ters knew. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,"  said  Lady  Lysle.  "  I  happen  not 
particularly  to  like  Mrs.  Howland;  but  doubtless  I  am  preju- 
diced." 

She  turned  to  talk  to  a  neighbor,  and  by  this  time  the  five 
girls  had  met.  There  was  an  eager  interchange  of  greetings, 
and  then  Maggie  found  herself  walking  up  the  avenue  by 
Merry's  side,  while  Cicely  found  a  place  between  the  two 
Tristram  girls. 

"I  am  so  glad  you've  come!"  said  Merry  in  her  gentle, 
polite  voice. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  ask  me,"  replied  Maggie.  "  Do  you 
know,"  she  added,  turning  and  fixing  her  curious  eyes  on  her 
companion's  face,  "  that  I  am  one  9f  those  poor  girls  who 
have  never  seen  a  beautiful  house  like  yours  before." 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  like  our  house,"  said  Merry;  "but  you 
haven't  seen  it  yet." 

"  I  am  looking  at  it  now.  So  this  is  what  I  am  accustomed 
to  hear  spoken  of  as  one  of  the  '  Homes  of  England '  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  is  a  home,"  said  Merry,  "  and  an  old  one,  too. 
Parts  of  the  Manor  have  been  centuries  in  existence,  but 
some  parts,  of  course,  are  comparatively  new." 

"  Will  you  take  me  all  over  it,  Miss  Cardew?  "  asked  Maggie. 

"  Indeed,  I  shall  be  delighted;  but  you  must  come  another 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  19 

day  for  that,  for  we  want  to  make  up  some  sets  of  tennis 
without  any  delay.  We  have  all  our  afternoon  planned  out. 
There  are  three  or  four  young  people  who  may  arrive  any 
moment,  so  that  we  shall  be  able  to  make  two  good 
sets." 

"  How  wonderful  it  all  is!  "  said  Maggie,  who  kept  on  look- 
ing at  the  house  with  ever-increasing  admiration,  and  did 
not  seem  particularly  keen  about  tennis. 

"Don't  you  like  tennis,  Miss — Miss  Howland?"  said  Merry. 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  Maggie  after  a  pause;  "but  then  I  think," 
she  added,  after  yet  another  pause,  "  that  I  like  every  nice 
thing  in  all  the  world." 

"How  delightful  that  must  be!"  said  Merry,  becoming 
more  and  more  attracted  by  Maggie  each  moment.  "  And  you 
know  a  lot,  too,  don't  you?  For  you  have  seen  so  much  of 
the  world." 

"I  know  very  little,"  replied  Maggie;  "and  as  to  having 
seen  the  world,  that  is  to  come.  I  am  quite  young,  you 
know — only  just  sixteen." 

"  But  Isabel  and  Molly  told  me  that  you  knew  more  than 
any  other  girl  of  their  acquaintance." 

Maggie  gave  a  cheerful  laugh,  and  said,  "  You  mustn't  mind 
what  they  say,  poor  darlings!  The  fact  is,  they're  fond 
of  me,  and  they  magnify  my  knowledge;  but  in  reality  it 
doesn't  exist.  Only,  I  must  tell  you,  Miss  Cardew,  I  mean 
to  see  everything,  and  to  know  everything.  I  mean  to  have 
a  glorious  future." 

The  enthusiasm  in  the  charming  voice  was  also  seen  to 
shine  through  those  queer,  narrow  eyes.  Merry  felt  her 
heart  beat.  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  in  return," 
she  said,  speaking,  for  a  wonder,  without  diffidence,  for  she 
was  naturally  very  shy  and  retiring.  "  I  wish  with  all  my 
heart  that  I  could  live  a  glorious  life  such  as  you  describe." 

"  And  surely  you  can?  "  said  Maggie. 

"  No,  I  must  be  satisfied  with  a  very  quiet  life.  But 
we  won't  talk  of  it  now.  I  am  really  very  happy.  I  should 
consider  myself  a  most  wicked,  discontented  girl  were  I  any- 
thing else.  And,  please,  may  I  take  you  to  see  mother?" 

Merry  brought  up  her  new  friend  to  introduce  her  to 
Mrs.  Cardew,  who  for  the  first  moment,  remembering  what 
Lady  Lysle  had  said,  was  a  trifle  stiff  to  Maggie  Howland, 
but  two  minutes  afterward  was  chatting  to  her  in  a  pleasant 
and  very  friendly  manner.  She  even  went  the  length  of  per- 
sonally introducing  Maggie  to  Lady  Lysle,  excusing  herself 
for  the  act  by  saying  that  Lady  Lysle  knew  her  mother. 

Maggie  also  succeeded  in  charming  Lady  Lysle,  who  said 
to  Mrs.  Gardew  afterward,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  introduced 
the  girl  to  me.  She  is  not  in  the  least  like  her  common- 
place, affected  mother.  She  seems  a  very  good  sort,  and 
I  like  plain  girls." 

"  But  is  she  plain?  "  said  Mrs.  Cardew  in  some  astonish- 
ment. "  Do  you  know,  I  never  noticed  it." 


20  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Lady  Lysle  laughed.  "  You  never  noticed  how  remarkably 
plain  that  girl  is,  my  dear  friend?"  she  said. 

44  To  be  frank  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew,  "  I  didn't  think 
of  her  face  at  all.  She  has  a  pretty  manner  and  a  nice, 
sensible,  agreeable  way  of  talking.  I  do  not  think  my  girls 
can  suffer  injury  from  her." 

"They  seem  to  like  her,  at  any  rate,"  said  Lady  Lysle, 
looking  significantly  as  she  spoke  at  the  distant  part  of  the 
grounds,  where  Maggie,  with  Cicely  at  one  side  of  her  and 
Merry  at  the  other,  was  talking  eagerly.  "Oh  yes,  she 
seems  a  nice  child,"  continued  the  great  lady,  "  and  it  would 
be  unfair  to  judge  a  girl  because  her  mother  is  not  to  one's 
taste." 

"But  is  there  anything  really  objectionable  in  the 
mother? "  asked  Mrs.  Cardew. 

"  Nothing  whatsoever,  except  that  she  is  pushing,  vulgar, 
and  shallow.  I  am  under  the  impression  that  the  Howlands 
are  exceedingly  poor.  Of  course  they  are  not  to  be  blamed 
for  that,  but  how  the  mother  can  manage  to  send  the  girl 
to  expensive  sch9ols  puzzles  me." 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Gardew  in  her  gentle  voice,  "  the 
child  is  evidently  very  different  from  her  mother,  and  I 
must  respect  the  mother  for  doing  her  best  to  get'  her  girl 
well  educated." 

"Your  girls  are  not  going  to  school,  are  they,  Sylvia?" 
asked  Lady  Lysle. 

"  Mine?    Of  course  not.    Their  father  wouldn't  hear  of  it." 

."  On  the  whole,  I  think  he  is  right,"  said  Lady  Lysle, 
"  though  there  are  advantages  in  schools.  Now,  that  school 
at  Kensington,  Aylmer  House,  which  my  dear  friend  Mrs. 
Ward  conducts  with  such  skill  and  marvelous  dexterity,  is 
a' place  where  any  girl  might  receive  advantages." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew,  "  that  Mrs.  Ward  is 
your  friend?" 

"  My  very  great  friend,  dear.  I  have  known  her  all  my 
life.  Aylmer  House  is  particularly  select.  My  niece  Aneta 
is  at  the  school,  and  her  mother  is  charmed  with  it." 

"  But  that  is  very  strange,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew  after  a  pause. 
"  You  must  talk  to-night  to  our  rector  when  he  comes.    Oh 
yes,  of  course  you'll  stay  to  supper." 
I  cannot,  I  regret  to  say." 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  won't,  there's  no  use  in  pressing  you. 
But  I  have  S9mething  curious  to  say.  The  rector's  two  little 
girls  are  going  to  Aylmer  House  in  September,  and  that 
little  Miss  Howland  whom  I  just  introduced  to  you  is  also 
one  of  the  girls  under  Mrs.  Ward's  care." 

"Then  she  will  do  well."  said  Lady  Lysle  after  a  pause, 
during  which  her  face  looked  very  thoughtful. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  knows  your  niece,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew. 

Lady  Lysle  laughed.  "  I  presume  she  does.  The  school 
only  contains  twenty  boarders — never  any  more.  I  happen  to 
know  that  there  are  two  vacancies  at  the  present  moment. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  21 

Really,  if  I  were  you,  Sylvia,  I  would  give  your  girls  a  couple 
of  years  there.  It  would  do  them  a  world  of  good,  and  they 
would  acquire  some  slight  knowledge  of  the  world  before 
they  enter  it." 

"Impossible!  quite  impossible!"  said  Mrs.  Gardew;  "their 
father  would  never  consent." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

POWER  WAS   EVERYTHING  TO   MAGGIE. 

MEANWHILE  the  young  people  enjoyed  themselves  vastly. 
Maggie  was  very  modest  with  regard  to  her  tennis,  but  she 
quickly  proved  that  she  could  play  better  than  any  one 
else  at  the  Manor  that  day.  The  visitors  walking  about  the 
grounds  paused  to  remark  on  her  excellent  play  and  to  in- 
quire who  she  was.  She  took  her  little  triumph  very 
modestly,  saying  that  she  was  rather  surprised  at  herself, 
and  supposed  that  it  was  the  fresh  and  delicious  air  of  the 
country  which  had  put  her  into  such  good  form. 

"  She  is  ridiculously  overmodest,"  said  Isabel  Tristram  to 
Merry,  "for  she  always  did  play  every  sort  of  game  better 
than  the  rest  of  us.  She  is  not  quite  so  good  at  her  books; 
except,  indeed,  at  certain  things,  such  as  recitation.  I  wish 
you  could  see  and  hear  her  then.  She  is  almost  a  genius. 
She  looks  like  one  inspired." 

"I  think  her  quite  delightful,"  said  Merry;  "and  as  to 
being  plain — 

"  I  told  you,  didn't  I?  "  said  Belle,  "  that  you'd  never  notice 
her  looks  after  you  had  seen  her  for  a  minute  or  two." 

By-and-by  it  was  time  for  the  family  to  go  into  the  house 
for  supper  at  Meredith  Manor.  The  three  girls  from  the 
rectory  were  taken  upstairs  to  a  spacious  bedroom  to  wash 
their  hands  and  brush  their  hair.  Molly  and  Isabel  were 
both  most  anxious  to  know  what  Maggie  thought  of  Cicely 
and  Merry. 

"  What  I  think  of  them?  "  said  Maggie.  "  Oh,  they're  first- 
rate,  and  not  really  dull  at  all;  and  the  whole  place  is  lovely, 
and  all  the  people  I  met  to-day  were  so  nice,  except,  indeed, 
that  Lady  Lysle." 

"Lady  Lysle!"  exclaimed  Molly  in  a  tone  of  astonish- 
ment. "Why,  she  is  Mrs.  Cardew's  greatest  friend.  Do 
you  mean  to  say  you  were  introduced  to  her?  " 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Cardew  was  kind  enough  to  do  so,  though  I 
am  sure  I  didn't  want  it  at  all." 

"But  I  can't  imagine  why  she  did  it,"  said  Molly  in  a 
tone  of  astonishment.  "  Mrs.  Cardew  never  introduces  either 
of  us  to  the  grown-up  people." 

"  Well,  her  ostensible  reason,"  said  Maggie,  "  was  that  Lady 
Lysle  knows  my  mother." 

"  Does  she,  indeed?  "  said  Isabel  in  a  tone  of  great  respect. 


22  THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

"  But  that  doesn't  make  me  like  her  any  the  better,"  said 
Maggie.  "  And  now  I  will  tell  you  why,  girls,  only  you  must 
faithfully  promise  you  won't  repeat  it  to  any  one." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  girls  eagerly,  who  were  accus- 
tomed to  receive  secrets  from  their  schoolfellows,  though 
Maggie,  as  a  rule,  never  gave  her  secrets  to  anyone. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Maggie,  the  color  flushing  into 
her  face  and  then  leaving  it  pale  again.  "  Aneta  Lysle  is 
one  of  the  girls  at  Aylmer  House.  She  is  Lady  Lysle's 
niece;  and — well — you  know  I  am  tolerant  enough,  but  I 
can't  bear  Aneta  Lysle." 

Molly  and  Isabel  were  silent  for  a  minute. 

"  If  you  can't  bear  her,"  said  Isabel,  "  then  I  don't  suppose 
we'll  like  her  either  when  we  go  to  the  school." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  will;  you'll  adore  her — sure  to.  Now  promise 
once  again  that  you  will  never  repeat  this." 

"  We  certainly  will  not,"  said  Molly. 

Isabel  nodded  emphatically.  "We  don't  tell  secrets,"  she 
said.  Then  she  added,  "We  had  best  go  downstairs  now, 
if  you're  quite  tidy,  Mags." 

During  supper  that  night  Mrs.  Cardew,  who  found  herself 
seated  near  her  favorite  rector,  began  to  ply  him  with  ques- 
tions with  regard  to  Aylmer  House.  How  had  he  heard  of 
it,  and  why  had  he  specially  fixed  on  that  establishment 
for  his  daughters? 

The  rector  smiled.  He  had  twinkling  dark  eyes,  and  they 
now  looked  down  the  long  table  until  they  rested  for  a  brief 
moment  on  Maggie's  young  figure.  She  was  talking  to  Mr. 
Cardew,  who,  stately  and  reserved  as  he  was,  took  her  re- 
marks with  good-natured  tolerance. 

"  A  nice,  unaffected  child,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself^  and 
neither  did  he  remark  how  plain  she  was. 

"That  young  person  yonder,"  said  Mr.  Tristram  to  Mrs. 
Cardew,  "  is  the  influence  that  has  induced  me  to  make  ar- 
rangements for  my  girls  at  Aylmer  House." 

"Miss  Howland!  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  in- 
fluenced by  a  schoolgirl?" 

Mr.  Tristram  looked  grave.  "  In  this  case  I  may  as  well 
confess  at  once  that  I  have  been  influenced,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  heard  a  great  deal  of  the  child  from  Molly  and  Isabel, 
for  they  were  all  three  at  the  same  excellent  school  in 
Hanover.  I  met  little  Miss  Howland  when  I  was  in  London 
at  Christmas.  Being  such  a  great  friend  of  my  children's, 
I  naturally  talked  to  her.  She  told  me  of  Mrs.  Ward  and  of 
the  new  delightful  school  to  which  she  was  going.  She  cer- 
tainly never  once  pressed  me  to  send  my  girls  there,  but  it 
occurred  to  me  that  I  would  visit  Mrs.  Ward  and  see  if  it 
could  be  arranged.  My  girls  are  quite  proficient  for  their 
ages  in  foreign  languages;  but  I  want  them  now  thoroughly 
to  learn  literature  and  English  history,  and  also  those  numer- 
ous small  accomplishments  which  are  so  necessary  for  a  gen- 
tlewoman. There  is  also  no  place  in  the  world  like  London, 


THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS.  23 

in  my  opinion,  for  hearing  good  music  and  seeing  good  art. 
I  saw  Mrs.  Ward.  A  short  interview  with  her  was  all- 
sufficient.  I  could  not  desire  to  put  my  girls  in  safer  hands." 

Mrs.  Gardew  listened  very  attentively. 

"  Then  you  think,  Mr.  Tristram,"  she  said  after  a  pause, 
"that  school-life  is  really  good  for  girls?" 

"  In  my  humble  opinion,  Mrs.  Cardew,  it  is  essential.  A 
girl  must  find  her  level.  She  can  only  find  it  at  school." 

"Then  what  about  my  dear  girls?"  said  Mrs.  Gardew. 

The  rector  bowed  in  a  very  courteous  manner.  "  School- 
life  may  not  be  really  necessary  for  them,"  he  said;  "al- 
though you  know  my  opinion — in  short  you  know  what  I 
would  do  with  them  did  they  belong  to  me." 

Mrs.  Cardew  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then  she 
continued  the  conversation  by  saying,  "  It  is  really  a  curious 
fact  that  Lady  Lysle,  my  great  friend,  who  was  here  this 
afternoon,  spoke  to  me  in  terms  of  the  warmest  approba- 
tion with  regard  to  Mrs.  Ward  and  Aylmer  House.  She 
says  that  her  own  niece  Aneta  is  a  member  of  the  school. 
She  further  said  that  there  were  two  vacancies  at  present, 
and  she  urged  me  to  send  my  girls  there.  But,  alas!  I  cannot 
do  that,  for  their  father  would  not  hear  of  it." 

"  I  do  wish  he  would  hear  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Tristram  with 
some  feeling.  "  You  will  never  have  your  girls  properly 
taught  unless  they  go  to  school.  It  is  impossible  at  this  dis- 
tance from  London  to  command  the  services  of  the  best 
masters  and  governesses.  Ypu  will  not  have  a  resident  gov- 
erness in  the  house  —  forgive  me  if  I  speak  freely,  dear 
lady,  but  I  love  your  children  as  though  they  were  my  own — 
and  if  you  could  persuade  Mr.  Cardew  to  seize  this  oppor- 
tunity and  let  them  go  to  school  with  Molly  and  Isabel  I 
am  certain  you  would  never  regret  it." 

"  I  wish  I  could  persuade  him,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew;  "  more 
particularly  as  that  excellent  music  master,  Mr.  Bennett,  has 
just  written  to  say  he  must  discontinue  giving  his  music- 
lessons,  as  the  distance  from  Warwick  is  too  far  for  his 
health,  and  Miss  Beverley,  their  daily  governess,  has  also 
broken  down.  But  there,  I  know  my  husband  never  will 
agree  to  part  with  the  girls." 

"  Then  the  next  best  thing,"  said  Mr.  Tristram,  speaking 
in  a  cheerful  tone,  "  is  for  you  to  take  up  your  abode  in 
your  London  house,  and  give  the  girls  the  advantages  of 
masters  and  mistresses  straight  from  the  Metropolis.  Why, 
you  will  be  bringing  them  out  in  a  couple  of  years,  Mrs. 
Cardew,  and  you  would  like  them  to  have  all  possible  ad- 
vantages first." 

"  Something  must  be  done,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Gardew; 
"  and  I  like  that  girl,  Miss  Rowland,  although  Lady  Lysle 
seemed  prejudiced  against  her  at  first." 

"Oh,  she  is  a  girl  in  a  thousand,"  said  Mr.  Tristram;  "so 
matter-of-fact  and  amiable  and  agreeable.  See  how  she  is 
talking  to  your  husband  at  this  very  moment!  I  never  saw 


24  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

a  nicer  or  more  modest  young  creature,  but  she  is  so  ex- 
ceedingly clever  that  she  will  push  her  own  way  anywhere. 
She  has  bowled  over  my  two  young  urchins  already,  although 
she  has  been  only  a  few  hours  at  the  rectory.  What  could 
Lady  Lysle  have  to  say  against  Maggie  Howland?  " 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing  at  all,  and  I  ought  not  to  have 
spoken;  but  it  seems  she  does  not  much  care  for  Mrs.  How- 
land." 

"  I  think  I  can  explain  that,"  said  Mr.  Tristram.  "  Mrs.  How- 
land  means  well,  but  is  a  rather  silly  sort  of  woman.  The 
girl  manages  her  in  the  sweetest  way.  The  girl  herself  takes 
after  her  father,  poor  Howland  the  African  explorer,  who 
lost  his  life  in  his  country's  cause.  He  had,  I  am  told, 
a  most  remarkable  personality." 

When  Molly  and  Isabel  Tristram,  accompanied  by  Maggie 
Howland,  the  rector,  and  his  wife,  walked  back  to  the  rectory 
that  evening,  Maggie  was  in  excellent  spirits.  It  was  natural 
that  the  three  young  people  should  start  on  in  front.  Maggie 
talked  on  various  subjects;  but  although  the  Tristrams  were 
most  anxious  to  get  opinions  from  her  with  regard  to  the 
Cardews,  she  could  not  be  led  to  talk  of  them  until  they 
were  approaching  the  house. 

It  was  now  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  and  a  perfect  summer 
night.  The  boys,  Jack  and  Andrew,  had  gone  to  bed,  but 
a  few  lights  were  twinkling  here  and  there  in  the  dear  old 
rectory. 

Oh,  I  am  not  a  scrap  sleepy,  said  Maggie.  "  This  air 
stimulates  one;  it  is  splendid.  By  the  way,  girls,"  she  added, 
suddenly  turning  and  facing  her  C9mpanions,  "  would  you 
like  your  bracelets  to  have  rubies  in  them  or  sapphires?" 

"Nonsense!"  said  Molly,  turning  crimson. 

Belle  laughed.  You  don't  suppose  you  are  accomplishing 
that?"  she  said. 

Maggie  spoke  rather  slowly.  "  Mother  h.as  one  dozen  brace- 
lets in  her  jewelry-case.  Father  brought  them  to  her  in 
the  course  of  his  travels.  Some  he  got  in  India  and  some 
in  Africa.  They  are  very  valuable  and  exceedingly  quaint, 
and  I  recall  now  to  my  memory,  and  can  see  clearly  in  my 
mind's  eye  one  lovely  gold  bracelet  fashioned  like  a  snake 
and  with  eyes  of  ruby,  and  another  (which  I  think  he  must 
have  got  at  Colombo)  that  consists  of  a  broad  gold  band 
studded  here  and  there  with  sapphires.  How  pretty  those 
bracelets  would  look  on  your  dear  little  arms,  Molly  and 
Isabel;  and  how  glad — how  very,  very  glad — your  Maggie 
will  be  to  give  them  to  you!" 

"  And,  of  course,  when  you  do  give  them  to  us  we'll  be  de- 
lighted to  have  them,"  said  Molly  and  Isabel. 

Then  Isabel  laughed  and  said,  "  But  what  is  the  good  of 
counting  your  chickens  before  they're  hatched?" 

"  I  consider  my  chickens  hatched,"  was  Maggie's  remark. 
"What  fun  we  shall  all  have  together  next  winter!  Aneta 
won't  have  much  chance  against  us.  Yes,  girls,  of  course 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  25 

I  like  your  friends  Cicely  and  Merry;  but  they'll  be  twice 
— three  times — the  girls  they  are  when  they  have  been  for 
a  short  time  at  Mrs.  Ward's  school." 

"  Aren't  you  tired,  Maggie? "  was  Molly's  remark. 
"Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  to  bed?" 

"  I  am  not  a  scrap  tired,  and  I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed 
at  all;  but  I  suppose  that  means  that  you  would?  " 

"  Well,  I  must  own  to  feeling  a  little  sleepy,"  said  Molly. 

"  And  so  am  I,"  said  Belle. 

"  Girls,  girls,  come  in;  your  father  wants  to  lock  up,"  called 
Mrs.  Tristram  at  that  moment. 

The  girls  all  entered  the  house,  lit  their  candles,  and  went 
upstairs  to  their  rooms. 

As  Maggie  was  wishing  her  two  dear  friends  good-night 
she  said  quietly,  "  I  hope  you  won't  mind;  but  Merry  Cardew 
— or,  as  I  ought  to  call  her,  Miss  Gardew — has  asked  me 
to  go  over  to  the  Manor  to-morrow  morning  in  order  to 
show  me  the  old  house.  I  said  I'd  be  there  at  ten  o'clock, 
and  could  then  get  back  to  you  in  time  for  lunch.  I  do 
trust  you  don't  mind." 

"  Of  course  we  don't,"  said  Molly  in  a  hearty  tone.  "  Now, 
good-night,  Mags." 

"  But  if  you  think,  Maggie,"  said  Isabel,  "  that  you  will 
succeed  in  that  scheme  of  yours  you  will  find  yourself 
vastly  mistaken." 

Maggie  smiled  gently,  and  the  next  moment  she  found 
herself  alone.  She  went  and  stood  by  the  open  window. 
There  was  a  glorious  full  mo9n  in  the  sky,  and  the  garden, 
with  its  deep  shadows  and  brilliant  avenues  of  light,  looked 
lovely.  But  Maggie  was  not  thinking  of  the  scenery.  Her 
thoughts  were  busy  with  those  ideas  which  were  always 
running  riot  in  her  busy  little  head.  She  was  not  unamiable; 
she  was  in  reality  a  good-hearted  girl,  but  she  was  very 
ambitious,  and  she  sighed,  above  all  things  for  power  and 
popularity. 

When  she  came  to  visit  Molly  and  Isabel  she  had  not  the 
faintest  idea  of  inducing  Cicely  and  Merry  to  join  that  select 
group  who  were  taught  by  Mrs.  Ward  at  Aylmer  House. 
But  when  once  the  idea  had  entered  her  brain,  she  de- 
termined, with  her  accustomed  quickness,  to  carry  it  into 
execution.  She  had  never  yet,  in  the  whole  course  of  her 
life,  met  with  defeat.  At  the  various  schools  where  she 
had  been  taught  she  had  always  been  popular  and  had  won 
friends  and  never  created  an  enemy;  but  at  Aylmer  House, 
extraordinary  and  delightful  as  the  life  was,  there  was  one 
girl  who  excited  her  enmity — who,  in  short,  roused  the 
worst  that  was  in  her.  That  girl's  name  was  Aneta  Lysle. 
No  sophistries  on  the  part  of  Maggie,  no  clever  speeches, 
no  well-timed  and  courteous  acts,  could  win  the  approval  of 
Aneta;  and  just  because  she  was  impossible  to  get  at,  be- 
cause she  carried  her  young  head  high,  because  she  had  that 
which  Maggie  could  never  have — a  stately  and  wonderful 
2  k 


26  THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

beauty — Maggie  was  jealous  of  her,  and  was  determined,  if 
she  could  not  win  Aneta  over  to  be  her  friend,  to  use  her  own 
considerable  powers  against  the  girl.  She  had  not  for  a  single 
moment,  however,  thought  that  she  could  be  helped  by 
Cicely  and  Merry  in  this  direction,  and  had  intended  to 
get  them  to  come  to  the  school  simply  because  they  were 
aristocratic  and  rich,  in  the  first  instance.  But  when  she 
saw  Lady  Lysle — Lady  Lysle,  who  hated  her  mother  and 
before  whom  her  mother  trembled  and  shrank;  Lady  Lysle, 
who  was  Aneta's  aunt — she  knew  that  Cicely  and  Merry 
might  be  most  valuable  aids  to  her  in  carrying  out  her 
campaign  against  Aneta,  and  would  help  her  to  establish 
herself  once  and  for  all  as  the  most  powerful  and  important 
person  in  Mrs.  Ward's  school. 

Power  was  everything  to  Maggie.  By  power  she  meant 
to  rule  her  small  school-world,  and  eventually  by  the  aid 
of  that  same  gift  to  take  her  position  in  the  greater  world 
that  lies  beyond  school.  In  her  heart  of  hearts  she  con- 
sidered Cicely  and  Merry  tiresome,  silly,  ignorant  little  girls; 
but  they  could  be  made  to  play  into  her  hands.  They  must 
come  to  Aylmer  House — oh  yes!  and  already  she  felt  certain 
she  had  put  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge  beneath  that  opposi- 
tion which  she  knew  she  must  expect  from  Mr.  Cardew.  She 
would  see  him  again  on  the  morrow.  Indeed,  greater  schemes 
than  hers  could  be  carried  into  effect  within  a  fortnight. 

Maggie  was  the  soul  of  common-sense,  however,  and 
had  no  idea  of  wearing  herself  out  thinking  when  she 
ought  to  be  asleep.  She  accordingly  soon  turned  from  the 
window,  and,  getting  into  bed,  dropped  at  once  into  healthy 
slumber. 

When  she  awoke  she  felt  remarkably  light-hearted  and 
cheerful.  She  got  up  early,  and  went  with  Andrew  and 
Jack  to  see  the  adorable  rabbits.  So  judicious  was  she  on 
this  occasion  that  both  boys  returned  with  her  to  breakfast 
in  the  hightest  good-humor. 

"  Mother,  mother,"  cried  Jackdaw,  "  she  loves  Fanciful  be- 
cause he's  so  beautiful." 

"  And  she  adores  Spot-ear  because  he's  so  ugly,"  said 
Peterkins. 

The  boys  were  exceedingly  happy  at  being  allowed  to  sit  at 
breakfast  one  on  each  side  of  Maggie,  who,  when  she  did 
not  speak  to  them — for  she  wanted  to  ingratiate  herself  with 
every  one  present,  and  not  with  them  alone — contrived  to 
pat  their  hands  from  time  to  time,  and  so  keep  them  in  a 
subdued  state  of  exceeding  good-humor. 

Soon  after  breakfast  she  flew  up  to  her  room,  put  on 
that  strangely  becoming  brown  hat,  which  would  have  suited 
no  other  girl  but  herself,  and  went  off  to  the  Manor.  She 
was  met  at  the  gate  by  Merry,  who  wras  anxiously  waiting 
for  her  appearance. 

"I  am  so  sorry  that  Cicely  isn't  here  too,"  said  Merry; 
"  but  mother  wanted  Cicely  to  drive  into  Warwick  with  her 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  27 

this  morning.  We're  going  for  a  long  motor-ride  this  after- 
noon. Don't  you  love  motors?  " 

"  I  have  never  been  in  one  in  my  life,"  replied  Maggie. 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Merry;  "then  you  shall  come  with  us, 
although  I  know  I  can't  ask  you  to-day,  but  perhaps  to- 
morrow we  could  manage." 

"  I  must  not  be  too  much  away  from  Molly  and  Isabel,  for 
it  would  not  be  kind — would  it,  Miss  Cardew?" 

"  Do  call  me  Merry.  '  Miss  Cardew '  sounds  so  stiff,  and 
you  know  I  feel  that  I  have  known  you  all  my  life,  for 
Molly  and  Isabel  have  always  been  talking  about  you. 
Mother  was  so  pleased  when  she  heard  that  you  wanted  to 
see  the  old  house;  and,  do  you  know,  Maggie —  You  don't 
mind  my  saying  Maggie?" 

"  Of  course  not,  Merry — dear  Merry." 

"  Well — would  you  believe  it? —  father  is  going  to  show 
you  the  manuscript-room  himself.  I  can  tell  you  that  is 
an  honor." 

"I  am  so  delighted!"  said  Maggie.  "Your  father  is  a 
most  charming  man." 

"Indeed,  that  he  is,"  said  Merry;  "but  I  never  saw  him 
get  on  so  well  with  a  young  girl  before." 

"  Oh,"  said  Maggie  in  her  modest  way,  "  it  was  just  that 
I  wanted  to  listen  to  him;  what  he  said  was  so  very  in- 
teresting." 

The  girls  were  now  walking  up  the  avenue. 

"  Please,"  said  Merry  suddenly,  "  tell  me  more  about  your 
school — I  mean  that  new,  wonderful  school  you  are  at  in 
London." 

"  Aylmer  House?  "  said  Maggie. 

"  Yes,  Aylmer  House.  Mother  was  talking  about  it  this 
morning.  She  was  quite  interested  in  it." 

"Your  mother  was  talking  about  it?" 

"  Yes.  It  seems  Mr.  Tristram  had  been  praising  it  to 
her  like  anything  last  night." 

"  Well,  he  can't  say  too  much  in  its  favor,"  said  Maggie. 
"  Any  girl  who  didn't  get  good  from  it  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  herself." 

"What  is  that  you  are  saying,  Miss  Rowland?"  said  the 
voice  of  Mr.  Cardew  at  that  moment. 

"Oh  father!    I  never  saw  you,"  cried  Merry. 

Mr.  Cardew  came  up  and  shook  hands  with  Maggie.  "  I 
was  walking  just  behind  you  on  the  grass,"  he  said,  "  and 
I  heard  your  enthusiastic  remarks  with  regard  to  the  school 
that  the  young  Tristrams  are  going  to.  I  am  heartily 
pleased;  I  take  a  great  interest  in  the  Tristrams." 

"Oh  sir,"  said  Maggie  suddenly,  "I  only  wish — oh!  I 
hardly  dare  to  say  it — but  I  only  do  wish  that  your  girls 
were  coming  too! " 

Merry  turned  crimson  and  then  grew  pale.  "  Father 
doesn't  approve  of  schools,"  she  said  in  a  faint  voice. 

"As  a  rule,  I  do  not,"  said  Mr.  Cardew  decidedly;  "but 


28  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

of  course  I  am  bound  to  say  there  are  schools  and  schools. 
You  shall  tell  me  all  about  your  school  presently,  Miss 
Howland.  And  now,  I  will  allow  my  daughter  to  enter- 
tain you." 

"  But,  father  darling,  you  promised  to  show  Maggie  the 
manuscript-room  yourself." 

"  Are  you  interested  in  black-letter?  "  said  Mr.  Cardew. 

"  I  am  interested  in  everything  old,"  replied  Maggie. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  show  you  the  manuscript-room  with 
pleasure;  but  if  you  want  to  go  over  the  Manor  you  have  a 
heavy  morning's  work  before  you,  an/i  Merry  is  an  excellent 
guide.  However,  let  me  see.  I  will  meet  you  in  the  library 
at  a  quarter  to  twelve.  Until  then,  adieu." 


CHAPTER    V. 

"  WHAT   DID    YOU   TALK   ABOUT?  " 

MAGGIE  and  Merry  had  now  reached  the  great  porch  which 
overshadowed  the  entrance  to  the  old  house.  The  next  instant 
they  found  themselves  in  the  hall.  This,  supported  by  grace- 
ful pillars,  was  open  up  to  the  roof  of  the  house.  It  was 
a  magnificent  hall,  and  Merry  began  enthusiastically  to  ex- 
plain its  perfections.  Maggie  showed  not  a  pretended  but  a 
real  interest.  She  asked  innumerable  and  sensible  questions. 
Her  queer,  calm,  narrow  eyes  grew  very  bright.  She  smiled 
now  and  then,  and  her  face  seemed  the  personification  of  in- 
telligence. With  that  smile,  and  those  gleaming  white  teeth, 
who  could  have  thought  of  Maggie  Howland  as  plain? 

They  went  from  the  hall  into  the  older  part  of  the  house, 
and  there  Merry  continued  her  duties  as  guide.  Never  before 
had  she  been  in  the  company  of  so  absolutely  charming  a 
companion.  Maggie  was  the  best  listener  in  the  world.  She 
never  interrupted  with  tiresome  or  irrelevant  questions. 
When  she  did  speak  it  was  with  the  utmost  intelligence, 
showing  clearly  that  she  understood  what  she  was  being 
told. 

By-and-by  they  found  themselves  in  the  picture-gallery. 
There  Merry  insisted  on  their  sitting  down  for  a  time  and 
taking  a  rest.  She  touched  a  bell  as  she  spoke,  and  then 
motioned  Maggie  to  recline  in  a  deep  arm-chair  which  faced 
the  picture  of  a  beautiful  lady  who  was  the  grandmother 
of  the  present  Mrs.  Cardew. 

"That  lady's  name,"  said  Merry,  "was  Cicely  Meredith, 
and  she  was  the  wife  of  the  last  Meredith  but  one  who 
owned  the  Manor.  It  was  little  supposed  in  those  days  that 
my  darling  mother  would  inherit  the  place,  and  that  Cardews 
should  live  at  Meredith  Manor  after  all.  Ah,  here  comes 
Dixon! — Dixon,  will  you  put  our  lunch  on  that  small  table? 
Thank  you  very  much." 

One  of  the  servants  in  the  Cardew  livery  had  appeared. 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  29 

He  was  bearing  a  small  tray  of  tempting  drinks,  fruit, 
and  cake. 

"  Now,  Maggie,  eat;  do  eat,"  said  Merry. 

"  I  declare  I  am  as  hungry  as  a  hawk,"  said  Maggie,  and 
she  munched  cake  and  ate  fruit  and  felt  that  she  was,  as 
she  expressed  it  to  herself — although  she  would  not  have 
used  the  words  aloud — in  clover. 

Nevertheless,  she  was  not  going  to  lose  sight  of  that  mis- 
sion which  she  had  set  herself.  She  turned  and  looked 
thoughtfully  at  Merry.  Merry  had  a  pretty  profile,  with  the 
short  upper-lip  and  the  graceful  appearance  of  a  very  high- 
bred girl. 

"  Do  you,"  said  Maggie  after  a  pause,  "  happen  to  know 
Aneta  Lysle?" 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Merry.  "  Do  you  mean  Lady 
Lysle's  niece?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Maggie. 

"I  don't  know  her  well,  but  she  has  stayed  here  once 
or  twice.  Is  she  a  friend  of  yours,  Maggie?" 

"Oh  no;  scarcely  a  friend,  although  we  are  school- 
fellows." 

"How  stupid  of  me!"  said  Merry,  speaking  with  some 
warmth.  "Of  course,  I  quite  forgot  that  she  is  at  Mrs. 
Ward's  school.  She  is  older  than  you,  isn't  she,  Maggie?" 

"Yes,  a  year  older,  as  days  are  counted;  but  she  appears 
even  more  than  her  age,  which  is  just  seventeen.  Don't  you 
think  her  very  beautiful,  Merry?  " 

"Now  that  I  recall  her,  I  do;  but  she  never  made  a  spe- 
cial impression  on  me.  She  never  stayed  here  long  enough." 

"  Nevertheless,  she  is  a  sort  of  cousin  of  yours?" 

"  Yes,  Lady  Lysle  is  mother's  cousin;  but  then  one  doesn't 
love  all  one's  relations,"  said  Merry  carelessly.  "  Have  an- 
other piece  of  cake,  Maggie." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Maggie,  helping  herself.  "  How  delicious 
it  is!" 

"  And  put  some  more  cream  over  your  raspberries.  The 
raspberries  at  Meredith  Manor  are  celebrated." 

Maggie  helped  herself  to  some  more  cream.  "  I  do  wish  " 
she  said  suddenly. 

"  That  I  would  go  on  telling  you  about  the  pictures?  "  said 
Merry.  "  But  you  must  be  tired.  I  never  knew  any  one  take 
in  interesting  things  so  quickly." 

"I  am  glad  you  think  I  do;  but  it  so  happens  that  I  do 
not  want  to  hear  about  the  pictures  this  morning.  I  think 
perhaps  I  am,  after  all,  a  bit  tired.  It  is  the  pleasure,  the 
delight  of  knowing  you  and  your  sister,  and  of  being  with 
those  sweet  girls  Molly  and  Isabel." 

"Yes,  aren't  they  darlings?"  said  Merry. 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  a  lot  about  yourself,"  said  Maggie. 
"  We  have  half-an-hour  yet  before  I  am  to  meet  your 
father  in  the  manuscript-room.  Begin  at  the  beginning,  and 
tell  me  just  everything.  You  are  not  schoolgirls?" 


30  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Merry,  speaking  slowly.  "  We  are  taught 
at  home." 

"But  have  you  a  resident  governess?" 

"No;  father  objects.  This  is  holiday-time  of  course;  but 
as  a  rule  we  have  a  daily  governess  and  masters." 

"  It  must  be  dull,"  said  Maggie,  speaking  in  a  low  tone — 
so  low  that  Merr;  had  to  strain  her  ears  to  hear  it. 

She  replied  at  once,  "  Tisn't  nearly  so  interesting  as  school; 
but  we — we  are — quite — Quite  satisfied." 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  go  to  school,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Father  doesn't  wish  it,  Maggie." 

"  But  you'd  like  it,  wouldn't  you?  " 

"Like  it!"  said  Merry,  her  eyes  distended  a  little.  "Like 
to  see  the  world  and  to  know  other  girls?  Well,  yes,  I 
should  like  it." 

"There'd  be  discipline,  you  know,"  said  Maggie.  "It 
wouldn't  be  all  fun." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Merry.  "  How  could  one  expect  edu- 
cation to  be  all  fun?" 

"And  you  would  naturally  like  to  be  very  well  educated, 
wouldn't  you?"  said  Maggie. 

"  Certainly;  but  I  suppose  we  are — that  is,  after  a  fashion." 

"Yes,"  said  Maggie,  "after  a  fashion,  doubtless;  but  you 
will  go  into  society  by-and-by,  and  you'll  find — well,  that 
home  education  leaves  out  a  great  many  points  of  knowledge 
which  cannot  possibly  be  attained  except  by  mixing  with 
other  girls." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Merry,  speaking  writh  a  slight  degree 
of  impatience;  "  but  then  Cicely  and  I  can't  help  it.  We  have 
to  do  what  father  and  mother  wish." 

"  Yes,  exactly,  Merry;  and  it's  so  awfully  sweet  and  amiable 
of  you!  Now,  may  I  describe  to  you  a  little  bit  of  school- 
life?" 

"  If  you  like,  Maggie.  Molly  and  Isabel  have  often  told  me 
of  what  you  did  in  Hanover." 

"Oh,  Hanover?"  said  Maggie  with  a  tone  of  slight  con- 
tempt. "  We  don't  think  of  Hanover  now  in  our  ideas  of 
school-life.  We  had  a  fairly  good  time,  for  a  German  school; 
but  to  compare  it  with  Mrs.  Ward's  house!  Oh,  I  cannot 
tell  you  what  a  dream  of  a  life  I  have  lived  during  the 
last  term!  It  is  only  to  see  Mrs.  Ward  to  love  her;  and 
all  the  other  mistresses  are  so  nice,  and  the  girls  are  so  very 
select  and  lady-like.  Then  we  take  a  keen  interest  in  our 
lessons.  You're  the  musical  one,  aren't  you,  Merry?  " 

"Yes.     How  ever  did  you  find  that  out?" 

"  Well,"  said  Maggie,  "  I  looked  at  you,  and  I  guessed  it. 
Besides,  I  heard  you  hum  an  air  under  your  breath  yesterday, 
and  I  knew  at  once  that  you  had  a  lovely  voice." 

"  I  am  sure  I  haven't;  and  I'm  too  young  to  begin  singing- 
lessons." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  That's  quite  an  exploded  idea.  If,  for 
instance Oh,  of  course  I  know  you  won't  be  there;  but 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  31 

if  you  were  so  lucky  as  to  be  a  pupil  at  Mrs.  Ward's  you 
would  be  taught  to  sing,  and,  what  is  more  valuable,  you 
would  hear  good,  wonderful,  beautiful  singing,  and  won- 
derful, beautiful  music  of  all  sorts.  Once  a  week  we  all 
go  to  a  concert  at  Queen's  Hall.  Have  you  ever  been  there?  " 

"  No !  I  don't  know  London  at  all." 

"  Well,  then,  another  day  in  the  week,"  continued  Maggie, 
"  we  go  to  the  different  museums  and  picture-galleries,  and 
we  get  accustomed  to  good  art,  and  we  are  taught  to  dis- 
cern good  from  bad.  We  learn  architecture  at  St.  Paul's  and 
the  Abbey  and  some  of  the  other  churches.  You  see,  Mrs. 
Ward's  idea  is  to  teach  us  everything  first-hand,  and  during 
the  summer  term  she  takes  us  on  long  expeditions  up  the 
river  to  Kew  and  Hampton  Court  and  all  those  dear  old 
places.  Then,  in  addition,  she  has  what  she  calls  reunions 
in  the  evenings.  We  all  wear  evening-dress,  and  she  in- 
vites two  or  three  friends,  and  we  sing  and  play  among  our- 
selves, and  we  are  taught  the  little  observances  essential  to 
good  society;  and,  besides  all  the  things  that  Mrs.  Ward 
does,  we  have  our  own  private  club  and  pur  own  debating 
society,  and — oh,  it  is  a  full  life! — and  it  teaches  one,  it 
helps  one." 

Merry's  soft  brown  eyes  were  very  bright,  and  her  cheeks 
had  a  carnation  glow  on  them,  and  her  pretty  red  lips  were 
slightly  parted.  "  You  do  all  these  things  at  school — at 
school?"  she  said. 

"Why,  of  course;  and  many,  many  more  things  that  you 
can't  even  imagine,  for  it's  the  whole  influence  of  the 
place  that  is  so  delightful.  Then  you  make  friends — great 
friends— and  you  get  to  understand  character,  and  you  get 
to  understand  the  value  of  real  discipline,  and  you  are  taught 
also  that  you  are  not  meant  to  live  a  worldly  and  selfish 
life,  for  Mrs.  Ward  is  very  philanthropic.  Each  girl  in  her 
school  has  to  help  a  poor  girl  in  East  London,  and  the  poor 
girl  becomes  in  a  sort  of  manner  her  property.  I  have  got 
a  dear  little  lame  girl.  Her  name  is  Susie  Style.  I  am  al- 
lowed to  see  her  once  or  twice  a  year,  and  I  write  her  a 
letter  every  week,  and  she  writes  back  to  me,  and  I  collect 
enough  money  to  keep  her  in  a  cripples'  home.  I  haven't 
enough  of  my  own,  for  I  am  perhaps  the  poorest  girl 
in  the  school;  but  that  makes  no  difference,  for  Mrs. 
Ward  doesn't  allow  the  word  money  or  rank  to  be  spoken 
of — she  lives  above  all  that.  She  says  that  money  is 
a  great  talent,  and  that  people  who  are  merely  purse-proud 
are  detestable.  Oh,  but  I've  told  you  enough,  haven't 
I?" 

"Yes,  oh  yesl"  said  Merry.  "Thanks  very,  very  much. 
And  so  Aneta  is  there;  and  as  Molly  and  Isabel  will  be 
there,  they  will  tell  me  more  at  Christmas.  Perhaps  we 
ought  to  go  down  now  to  meet  father  in  the  manuscript- 
room." 

Maggie  rose  with  alacrity.     She  followed  her  companion 


32  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

quite  cheerfully.  She  felt  assured  within  herself  that  the 
thin  end  of  the  wedge  had  been  well  inserted  by  now. 

Mr.  Cardew  was  exceedingly  courteous  and  pleasant,  and 
Maggie  charmed  him  by  her  intelligence  and  her  marvellous 
gift  of  assimilating  knowledge.  Not  a  word  was  said  with 
regard  to  the  London  school,  and  at  ten  minutes  to  one 
Maggie  bade  good-bye  to  Mr.  Cardew  and  Merry,  and  went 
back  to  the  rectory  in  considerable  spirits. 

Molly  and  Isabel  were  all  impatience  for  her  return. 

"Well,  what  did  you  do?"  said  Molly.  "Who  was  there 
to  meet  you?" 

"  Only  Merry.  Cicely  had  gone  with  Mrs.  Cardew  to  War- 
wick." 

"Oh,  well,  Merry  is  the  jollier  of  the  two,  although  they 
are  both  perfectly  sweet,"  said  Molly.  "  And  did  she  show 
you  all  the  house,  Maggie?" 

"No,"  said  Maggie;  "I  really  couldn't  take  it  all  in;  but 
she  took  me  round  the  armory  and  into  the  old  tower,  and 
then  we  went  into  the  picture-gallery." 

"Oh,  she  took  you  into  the  picture-gallery  1  There  are 
Romneys  and  Gainsboroughs  and  Sir  Joshua  Reynoldses,  and 
all  sorts  of  magnificent  treasures  there." 

"  Doubtless,"  said  Maggie.  "  But  when  I  tell  you  what  we 
did  you  will  laugh." 

"What  did  you  do?     Do  tell  us,  Mags." 

"  We  sat  in  easy-chairs.  I  faced  the  portrait  of  a  very 
beautiful  lady  after  whom  Cicely  Cardew  is  called." 

"  Of  course  I  know  her  well — I  mean  her  picture,"  said 
Isabel.  "That  is  a  Gainsborough.  Didn't  you  admire  it?" 

"Yes;  but  I  want  to  look  at  it  again;  I'm  going  to  do 
the  gallery  another  day,  and  on  that  occasion  I  think  I  shall 
ask  Cicely  to  accompany  me." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean?  Don't  you  like  our  sweet  little 
Merry?" 

"Like  her?  I  quite  love  her,"  said  Maggie;  "but  the 
fact  is,  girls,  I  did  my  duty  by  her  this  morning,  and  now 
I  want  to  do  my  duty  by  Cicely." 

"  Oh  Mags,  you  are  so  mysterious! "  said  Molly;  "  but  come 
upstairs  and  take  off  your  hat,  for  the  gong  will  sound  for 
lunch  in  a  moment." 

Maggie  went  upstairs,  Molly  and  Isabel  following  her. 
"  Come  into  my  room,  girls,"  she  said.  Then  she  added, 
dropping  her  voice,  "  I  think  those  bracelets  are  pretty 
secure." 

Molly  colored.     Isabel  looked  down. 

"  You  will  never  succeed,"  said  Molly. 

Then  Isabel  said,  "  Even  if  you  do,  I  don't  think  we  ought, 
perhaps,  to — to  take  them,  for  it  would  seem  as  though 
they  were  a  sort  of— sort  of — bribe." 

"Oh,  you  old  goose!"  said  Maggie,  kissing  her.  "How 
could  they  be  a  bribe  when  I  don't  ask  you  to  do  anything 
at  all?  But  now,  listen.  We  were  tired  when  we  got  to 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  33 

the  gallery;  therefore  that  sweet  little  Merry  of  yours  or- 
dered fruit  and  milk  and  cake,  and  we  ate  and  talked." 

"What  did  you  talk  about?" 

"  School,  dear." 

"  What  was  the  good  of  your  talking  about  school  to 
Merry  when  she  can't  go?  " 

"Can't  go?"  said  Maggie.  "Why,  she  is  going;  only,  it 
was  my  bounden  duty  to  make  her  want  to  go.  Well,  I  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  that  this  morning.  There's  the  gong,  and, 
notwithstanding  my  lunch,  I  am  quite  hungry." 

"Well,  Andrew  and  Jack  are  perfectly  mad  to  see  you; 
you'll  have  to  devote  a  bit  of  your  time  to  them.  Dear  me, 
Mags! "  said  Molly,  "  it  must  be  tiresome  to  be  a  sort  of  uni- 
versal favorite,  as  you  are." 

"Tiresome!"  said  Maggie,  glancing  round  with  her  queer, 
expressive  eyes,  "  when  I  love  it  like  anything?  Let's  get 
up  a  sort  of  play  between  ourselves  this  afternoon,  and 
let  the  boys  join  in;  and,  oh!  couldn't  we — don't  you  think  we 
might — get  your  two  friends  Cicely  and  Merry  to  join  us, 
just  for  an  impromptu  thing  that  we  could  act  beautifully 
in  the  hay-field?  Wouldn't  their  father  consent?" 

"  Why,  of  course  he  would.  I'll  run  round  the  minute 
lunch  is  over  and  get  them,"  said  Isabel.  "  You  are  a  girl 
for  planning  things,  Mags!  It'll  be  quite  glorious." 

"  We  might  have  tea  in  the  hay-field  too,"  continued  Mag- 
gie. "  I  am  sure  Peterkins  and  Jackdaw  will  help  us." 

"Capital!  capital!  and  we'll  get  David" — David  was  the 
gardener's  boy — "  to  pick  lots  of  fruit  for  the  occasion." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FORBIDDEN   FRUIT. 

MEANWHILE  a  little  girl  stood  all  alone  on  one  of  the  ter- 
race walks  at  Meredith  Manor.  Mrs.  Cardew  and  Cicely 
would  not  arrive  until  rather  late  for  lunch,  and  Merry  and 
her  father  were  to  partake  of  it  alone.  Merry  paced  up  and 
down  very  slowly.  What  a  ^vely  day  it  was,  and  how 
beautiful  the  place  looked  with  its  long  lines  of  stately  trees, 
and  its  background  of  woods,  and  its  terraces  of  bright 
flowers  and  green,  green  grass! 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  the  land  belonged  to  the 
Gardews,  and  yet  Merry  Cardew,  the  joint-heiress  with 
Cicely  of  all  this  wealth,  did  not  feel  either  happy  or  con- 
tented at  that  moment.  A  girl  had  come  into  her  life  who 
had  suddenly  turned  her  gold  to  gray,  her  sunshine  to 
shadow.  She  was  a  very  nice  girl,  too — exceedingly  nice. 
There  was  something  about  her  which  Merry  found  impos- 
sible to  define,  for  Merry  had  no  acquaintances  just  then 
in  her  sheltered  life  who  possessed  the  all-important  and 
marvelous  power  of  charm.  Merry  knew  quite  well  that 
Maggie  Howland  was  neither  rich  nor  beautiful.  She  was 


34  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

just  a  little  schoolgirl,  and  yet  she  could  not  get  Maggie 
out  of  her  head.  She  sighed  for  the  girl's  companionship, 
and  she  sighed  yet  more  for  the  forbidden  fruit  which 
Maggie  had  placed  so  enticingly  before  her  mental  vision: 
the  school-life,  the  good  life,  the  energetic,  purposeful  life. 
Music — oh,  how  passionately  Merry  loved  the  very  little 
music  she  had  ever  heard!  And  art — Merry  and  Cicely  had 
learned  a  little  bit  of  art  in  their  own  picture-gallery;  but 
of  all  there  was  outside  they  knew  nothing.  Then  that  de- 
lightful, wonderful  scheme  of  having  an  East  End  girl  for 
your  very  own  to  train,  and  help,  and  write  to,  and  support; 
and  the  companionship,  and  all  the  magical  things  which 
the  Tristrams  had  more  or  less  enjoyed  in  foreign  schools, 
but  which  seemed  to  have  reached  a  delicacy  of  perfection 
at  Aylmer  House! 

Yes,  doubtless  these  were  forbidden  fruits;  but  she  could 
not  help,  as  she  paced  alone  on  the  terrace,  contrasting  her 
mode  of  education  with  that  which  was  put  within  the 
reach  of  her  friends  Molly  and  Isabel,  and  of  Maggie  herself. 
How  dull,  after  all,  were  her  lessons!  The  daily  governess, 
who  was  always  tired  when  she  arrived,  taught  her  out 
of  books  which  even  Molly  and  Isabel  declared  to  be  out  of 
date;  who  yawned  a  good  deal;  who  was  always  quite,  quite 
kind,  but  at  the  same  time  had  no  enthusiasm;  who  said, 
"  Yes,  my  dears;  very  nicely  done,"  but  never  even  punished; 
and  who  only  uttered  just  that  mild  phrase  which  was 
monotonous  by  reason  of  its  repetition.  Where  was  the 
good  of  reading  Racine  aloud  to  Miss  Beverley  day  after 
day,  and  not  being  able  to  talk  French  properly  at  all?  And 
where  was  the  use  of  struggling  through  German  with  the 
same  instructress? 

Then  the  drawing-master  who  came  from  Warwick:  he 
was  better  than  Miss  Beverley;  but,  after  all.  he  taught 
what  Molly  and  Isabel  said  was  now  quite  exploded — namely, 
freehand — and  he  only  came  once  a  week.  Merry's  passion 
was  for  music  more  than  for  drawing;  it  was  Cicely  who 
pleased  Mr.  Vaughan,  the  drawing-master,  best.  Then  there 
was  the  music-master,  Mr.  Bennett;  but  he  never  would 
allow  her  to  sing  a  note,  and  he  taught  very  dull,  old- 
fashioned  pieces.  How  sick  she  was  of  pieces,  and  of  playing 
them  religiously  before  her  father  at  least  once  a  week! 
Her  dancing  was  better,  for  she  had  to  go  to  Warwick  to 
a  dancing-class,  and  there  were  other  girls,  and  they  made  it 
exciting.  But  compared  to  school,  and  in  especial  Mrs. 
Ward's  school,  Merry's  mode  of  instruction  was  very  dull. 
After  all,  Molly  and  Isabel,  although  they  would  be  quite 
poor  girls,  had  a  better  time  than  she  and  Cicely  with  all 
their  wealth. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  my  love,"  said  her  father 
at  that  moment,  and  Merry  turned  her  charming  little  face 
towards  him. 

"  I  ought  not  to  tell  them  to  you,  dad,"  she  said,  "  for 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  35 

they  are — I'm  ever  so  sorry — they  are  discontented 
thoughts." 

"You  discontented,  my  dear  child!  I  did  feel  that  I  had 
two  little  girls  unacquainted  with  the  meaning  of  the  word." 

"Well,  I'll  just  tell  you,  and  get  it  over,  dad.  I'll  be 
perfectly  all  right  once  I  have  told  you." 

"Then  talk  away  my  child;  you  know  I  have  your  very 
best  interests  at  heart." 

"  Indeed  I  know  that,  my  darling  father.  The  fact  is 

this,"  said  Merry;  "I" She  stopped;  she  glanced  at 

her  father.  He  was  a  most  determined  and  yet  a  most  ab- 
solutely kind  man.  Merry  adored  him;  nevertheless,  she 
was  a  tiny  little  bit  in  awe  of  him. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  he  said,  looking  round  at  her.  "  Has 
your  companion,  that  nice  little  Miss  Howland,  been  putting 
silly  thoughts  into  your  head?  If  so,  she  mustn't  come  here 
again/' 

"Oh  father,  don't  say  that!  You'll  make  me  quite  miser- 
able. And  indeed  she  has  not  been  putting  silly  thoughts 
into 'my  head." 

"  Well,  then,  what  are  you  so  melancholy  about? " 

"  The  fact  is — there,  I  will  have  it  out,"  said  Merry— 
"  I'd  give  anything  in  the  world  to  go  to  school." 

"  What?  "  said  Mr.  Cardew. 

"Yes,"  said  Merry,  gaining  courage  as  she  spoke;  "Molly 
and  Isabel  are  going,  and  Aneta  Lysle  is  there,  and  Maggie 
Howland  is  there,  and  I'd  like  to  go,  too,  and  I'm  sure  Cicely 
would;  and,  oh,  father!  I  know  it  can't  be;  but  you  asked  me 
what  was  the  matter.  Well,  that's  the  matter.  I  do  want 
most  awfully  to  go  to  school!  " 

"  Has  that  girl  Miss  Howland  been  telling  you  that  you 
ought  to  go  to  school?" 

"  Indeed  no,  she  has  not  breathed  such  a  word.  But  I 
am  always  interested,  as  you  know — or  as  perhaps  you 
don't  know — in  schools;  and  I  have  always  asked — and  so 
has  Cicely — Molly  and  Isabel  to  tell  us  all  about  their  lives 
at  school." 

"  I  did  not  know  it,  my  little  Merry." 

"Well,  yes,  father,  Cicely  and  I  have  been  curious;  for, 
you  see,  the  life  is  so  very  different  from  ours.  And  so 
to-day,  when  Maggie  and  I  were  in  the  picture-gallery,  I 
asked  her  to  tell  me  about  Aylmer  House,  and  she — she  did." 

"  She  made  a  glowing  picture,  evidently,"  said  Mr.  Cardew. 

"Oh  father,  it  must  be  so  lovely!  Think  of  it,  father — to 
get  the  best  music  and  the  best  art,  and  to  be  under  the 
influence  of  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Ward.  Oh,  it  must  be 
good!  Do  you  know,  father,  that  every  girl  in  her  school 
has  an  East  End  girl  to  look  after  and  help;  so  that  some 
of  the  riches  of  the  West  should  be  felt  and  appreciated  by 
those  who  live  in  the  East.  Oh  father!  I  could  not  help 
feeling  a  little  jealous." 

"  Yes,  darling,  I  quite  understand.    And  you  find  your  life 


36  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

with  Miss  Beverley  and  Mr.  Vaughan  and  Mr.  Bennett  a 
little  monotonous  compared  to  the  variety  which  a  school- 
life  affords?" 

"  That  is  it,  father  darling." 

"  I  don't  blame  you  in  the  least,  Merry — not  in  the  very 
least;  but  the  fact  is,  I  have  my  own  reasons  for  not  approv- 
ing of  school-life.  I  prefer  girls  who  are  trained  at  home. 
If,  indeed,  you  had  to  earn  your  living  it  would  be  a  different 
matter.  But  you  will  be  rich,  dear,  some  day,  and —  -  Well, 
I  am  glad  you've  spoken  to  me.  Don't  think  anything  more 
about  it.  Come  in  to  lunch  now." 

"I'll  try  not  to  think  of  it,  father;  and  you're  not  really 
angry?  " 

"  Angry!  "  said  Mr.  Cardew.  "  I'll  never  be  angry  with  you, 
Merry,  when  you  tell  me  all  the  thoughts  of  your  heart." 

"  And  you  won't — you  won't,"  said  Merry  in  an  anxious 
tone — "vex  darling  mother  by  talking  to  her  about  this?" 

"  I  make  no  promises  whatsoever  You  have  trusted  me; 
you  must  continue  to  trust  me." 

"I  do;  indeed  I  do!  You  are  not  angry  with  dear,  nice 
Miss  Howland,  are  you,  father?" 

"Angry  with  her!  Why  should  I  be?  Most  certainly 
not.  Now,  come  in  to  lunch,  love." 

At  that  meal  Mr.  Cardew  did  his  very  utmost  to  be 
pleasant  to  Merry;  and  as  there  could  be  no  man  more 
charming  when  he  pleased,  soon  the  little  girl  was  completely 
under  his  influence,  and  forgot  that  fascinating  picture  of 
school-life  which  Maggie  had  so  delicately  painted  for  her 
edification. 

Soon  after  lunch  Mrs.  Cardew  and  Cicely  returned;'  and 
Merry,  the  moment  she  was  with  her  sister,  felt  her  sudden 
fit  of  the  blues  departing,  and  ran  out  gaily  with  Cicely 
into  the  garden.  They  were  seated  comfortably  in  a  little 
arbor,  when  Isabel's  voice  was  heard  calling  them.  She 
was  hot  and  panting.  She  had  come  up  to  tell  them  of  the 
proposed  arrangements  for  the  afternoon,  and  to  beg  of 
them  both  to  come  immediately  to  the  rectory. 

"How  more  than  delightful!"  said  Merry. — "Cicely,  you 
stay  still,  for  you're  a  little  tired.  I'll  run  up  to  the  house 
at  once  and  ask  father  and  mother  if  we  may  go." 

"Yes,  please  do,"  said  Isabel;  "and  I'll  rest  here  for  a 
little,  for  really  the  walk  up  to  your  house  is  somewhat 
fatiguing."  She  mopped  her  hot  forehead  as  she  spoke. 
"  You  might  as  well  come  back  with  me,  both  of  you  girls," 
she  added.  But  she  only  spoke  to  Cicely,  for  Merry  had 
already  vanished. 

"Father!  mother!"  said  the  young  girl,  bursting  abruptly 
into  their  presence.  "  Belle  Tristram  has  just  come  up  to 
ask  us  to  spend  the  afternoon  at  the  rectory.  Tea  in  the  hay- 
field,  and  all  kinds  of  fun!  May  we  go?  " 

"  Of  course  you  may,  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew  at  once. 
"  We  intended  motoring,  but  we  can  do  that  another  day." 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  37 

Mr.  Cardew  looked  dubious  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said, 
"  All  right,  only  you  must  not  be  out  too  late.  I'll  send  the 
pony-trap  down  to  the  rectory  for  you  at  half-past  eight 
o'clock." 

"  Oh,  but,  father,"  said  Merry,  "  we  can  walk  home." 

"  No  dear;  I  will  send  the  little  carriage.  Now,  go  and 
enjoy  yourself,  my  child." 

He  looked  at  her  with  great  affection,  and  she  felt  herself 
reddening.  Had  she  hurt  that  most  dear  father  after  all? 
Oh!  no  school  that  ever  existed  was  worth  that. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

DISCONTENT. 

ON  that  special  afternoon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cardew  happened 
to  be  alone.  The  girls  had  gone  down  to  the  rectory.  This 
was  not  Mrs.  Cardew's  At  Home  day,  and  she  therefore  did 
not  expect  any  visitors.  She  was  a  little  tired  after  her 
long  drive  to  Warwick,  and  was  glad  when  her  husband  sug- 
gested that  they  should  go  out  and  have  tea  all  alone  to- 
gether under  one  of  the  wide-spreading  elm-trees. 

Mrs.  Cardew  said  to  herself  that  this  was  almost  like  the 
old,  old  times  of  very  long  ago.  She  and  her  husband  had 
enjoyed  an  almost  ideal  married  life.  They  had  never  quar- 
reled; they  had  never  even  had  a  small  disagreement. 
They  were  blessed  abundantly  with  this  world's  good  things, 
for  when  Sylvia  Meredith  of  Meredith  Manor  had  accepted 
the  hand  of  Cyril  Cardew  she  had  also  given  her  heart 
to  him. 

He  and  she  were  one  in  all  particulars.  Their  thoughts 
were  almost  identical.  She  was  by  no  means  a  weak-minded 
woman — she  had  plenty  of  character  and  firmness;  but  she 
deferred  to  the  wishes  of  her  husband,  as  a  good  wife  should, 
and  was  glad  to  feel  that  he  was  slightly  her  master.  Never, 
under  any  circumstances,  did  he  make  her  feel  the  yoke. 
Nevertheless,  she  obeyed  him,  and  delighted  in  doing  so.  • 

The  arrival  of  their  little  twin-daughters  was  the  crown 
of  their  bliss.  They  never  regretted  the  fact  that  no  son 
was  born  to  them  to  inherit  the  stately  acres  of  Meredith 
Manor;  they  were  the  last  sort  of  people  to  grumble.  Mrs. 
Cardew  inherited  the  Meredith  property  in  her  own  right, 
and  eventually  it  would  be  divided  between  her  two  daugh- 
ters. 

Meanwhile  the  children  themselves  absorbed  the  most  lov- 
ing care  of  their  parents.  Mr.  Cardew  was,  as  has  already 
been  said,  a  great  merchant-prince.  He  often  went  to 
London  to  attend  to  his  business  affairs,  but  he  spent  most 
of  his  time  in  the  exquisite  country  home.  It  was  quite 
true  that  discontent  seemed  far,  very  far  away  from  so 
lovely  a  spot  as  Meredith  Manor.  Nevertheless,  Mr.  Cardew 
had  seen  it  to-day  on  the  face  of  his  best-loved  child, 


38  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

his  little  Merry.  The  look  had  hurt  him;  and  while  he  was 
having  lunch  with  her,  and  joking  with  her,  and  talking, 
in  his  usually  bright  and  intelligent  way,  her  words,  and 
still  more  the  expression  of  her  face  and  the  longing  look  in 
her  sweet  brown  eyes,  returned  to  him  again  and  again. 

He  was,  therefore,  more  thoughtful  than  usual 'as  he  sat 
by  his  wife's  side  now  under  the  elm-tree.  He  had  a  pile 
of  newspapers  and  magazines  on  the  grass  at  his  feet,  and  his 
favorite  fox-terrier  Jim  lay  close  to  his  master.  Mrs.  Cardew 
had  her  invariable  knitting  and  a  couple  of  novels  waiting 
to  occupy  her  attention  when  Mr.  Cardew  took  up  one  of  the 
newspapers.  But  for  a  time  the  pair  were  silent.  Mrs. 
Cardew  was  thinking  of  something  which  she  wanted  to 
say,  and  Mr.  Cardew  was  thinking  of  Merry.  It  was, 
as  is  invariably  the  case,  the  woman  who  first  broke  the 
silence. 

"  Well,  Cyril,"  said  his  wife,  "  to  find  ourselves  seated  here 
all  alone,  without  the  children's  voices  to  listen  to  reminds 
me  of  the  old  times,  the  good  times,  the  beautiful  times  when 
we  were  first  married." 

"  My  dear,"  he  answered,  starting  slightly  as  she  spoke, 
"  those  were  certainly  go9d  and  beautiful  times,  but  surely 
not  more  good  and  beautiful  than  now,  when  our  two  dear 
little  girls  are  growing  up  and  giving  us  such  great  happi- 
ness." 

"  That  is  true.  Please  don't  misunderstand  me,  love;  but 
you  come  even  before  the  children." 

He  felt  touched  as  she  said  this,  and  glancing  at  her,  said 
to  himself  that  he  was  indeed  in  luck  to  have  secured  so 
priceless  a  woman  as  his  wife. 

"  We  have  had  happy  times  together,  Cyril,"  she  said, 
returning  his  glance. 

"Yes,  Sylvia,"  he  answered,  and  once  again  he  thought 
of  Merry's  face. 

"  Nothing  can  alter  that,"  she  continued. 

"  Nothing,  my  love,"  he  said. 

Then  he  looked  at  her  again,  and  saw  that  she  was  a  little 
troubled  about  something;  and,  as  was  his  custom,  he  de- 
termined to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns. 

"  You  have  something  on  your  mind,  Sylvia.    WThat  is  it?  " 

"I  have,  she  said  at  once;  "and  something  of  very  great 
importance.  I  have  a  sort  of  fear  that  to  talk  of  it  with 
you  may  possibly  trouble  you  a  little.  Shall  we  defer  it, 
dear?  The  day  is  so  peaceful,  and  we  are  so  happy." 

"No,  no,"  he  replied  at  once.  "We  will  take  the  oppor- 
tunity oif  the  children  being  perfectly  happy  at  the  rectory 
to  discuss  the  thing  that  worries  you.  But  what  can  it 
be?"  he  continued.  "That  is  more  than  I  can  imagine.  I 
have  never  seen  you  worried  before." 

Again  he  thought  of  Merry,  but  it  was  impossible  to  con- 
nect his  wife's  trouble  with  his  child's  discontent. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  you  just  out,  Cyril,"  said  his  wife.     "  I 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  39 

urge  nothing,  but  I  feel  bound  to  make  a  suggestion.  I  know 
your  views  with  regard  to  the  girls." 

"My  views,  dear!     What  do  you  mean?" 

"  With  regard  to  their  education,  Cyril." 

"Yes,  yes,  Sylvia;  we  have  done  our  very  best.  Have 
you  any  reason  to  find  fault  with  Miss  Beverley  or  with 
Vaughan  or  Bennett?" 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew,  "  Miss  Beverley,  who, 
you  know,  is  an  admirable  governess,  and  whom  we  can 
most  thoroughly  trust,  wrote  to  me  yesterday  morning  saying 
that  she  was  obliged  to  resign  her  post  as  daily  governess 
to  our  girls.  She  finds  the  distance  from  Warwick  too  far; 
in  fact,  she  has  her  physician's  orders  to  take  work  nearer 
home.  She  regrets  it  immensely,  but  feels  that  she  has  no 
alternative." 

"Provoking!"  said  Mr.  Cardew;  "but  really,  Sylvia,  I 
wouldn't  allow  it  to  upset  me  if  I  were  you.  Surely  there  are 
plenty  of  other  Miss  Beverleys  in  the  world;  and" — again  he 
thought  of  Merry — "  we  might  perhaps  find  some  one  a  little 
less  old-fashioned." 

"  I  am  afraid,  dear,  that  is  impossible,  for  you  will  not 
allow  a  resident  governess  in  the  house." 

"  I  will  not,"  said  Mr.  Gardew  with  decision.  "  Such  an  ar- 
rangement would  break  in  on  our  family  life.  You  know 
my  views." 

"Yes,  dear;  and  I  must  say  I  approve  of  them." 

"  You  must  find  some  one  else  in  Warwick  who  is  not 
too  tired  to  take  the  train  journey.  Doubtless  it  would  be 
quite  easy,"  said  Mr.  Cardew. 

"  I  went  to  Warwick  this  morning  in  order  to  make  in- 
quiries," said  Mrs.  Cardew  in  her  gentle  voice,  "  and  I  grieve 
to  say  there  is  no  one  who  can  in  the  least  take  the  post 
which  dear  Miss  Beverley  has  so  worthily  filled.  But  I  have 
further  bad  news  to  give  you.  Mr.  Bennett  is  leaving  War- 
wick for  a  better  post  in  London,  and  we  shall  be  at  our 
wits'  end  to  get  the  girls  good  music-lessons  for  next  term." 

"How  provoking!  how  annoying!"  said  Mr.  Cardew,  and 
his  irritation  was  plainly  showrn  in  his  face.  "  It  does  seem 
hard,"  he  said  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  that  we,  with  all 
our  wrealth  should  be  unable  to  give  our  girls  the  thorough 
education  they  require." 

"  The  fact  is  this,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew,  "  and  I  must 
speak  out  plainly  even  at  the  risk  of  displeasing  you — Cicely 
and  Merry  are  exceedingly  clever  girls,  but  at  the  present 
moment  they  are  very  far  behind  other  girls  of  their  age. 
Their  knowledge  9f  foreign  languages  is  most  deficient.  I 
have  no  doubt  Miss  Beverley  has  grounded  them  well  in 
English  subjects;  but  as  to  accomplishments,  they  are  not 
getting  the  advantages  their  rank  in  life  and  their  talent  de- 
mand. Dear  Cyril,  we  ought  to  forget  ourselves  and  our 
interests  for  the  children." 

"What  has  put  all  this  into  your  head?"  said  Mr.  Car- 


40  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

dew.  "  As,  for  instance — "  He  paused.  "  It  seemed  im- 
possible  " 

"What,  dear?"  asked  his  wife  very  earnestly. 

"  Well,  I  may  as  well  say  it.  Has  Merry  been  talking  to 
you?" 

"Our  little  Merry!"  said  Mrs.  Cardew  in  astonishment. 
"  Of  course  not.  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  will  not  explain  just  at  present,  dear.  You  have  some 
idea  in  your  head,  or  you  wouldn't  speak  to  me  as  you 
do." 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,  when  my  cousin,  Lucia  Lysle,  was  here 
yesterday  she  spoke  very  strongly  to  me  on  the  subject  of 
the  girls'  education,  and  urged  me  to  do  what  I  knew  you 
would  never  for  a  moment  consent  to." 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Gardew.  "I  seem  to  be 
an  awful  bugbear  in  this  business." 

"  No,  dear,  no.  I  quite  understand  your  scruples,  and — 
and — respect  them.  But  Lucia  naturally  wanted  us  to  seize 
the  opportunity  of  two  vacancies  at  Aylmer  House,  Mrs. 
Ward's  school." 

"  I  shall  soon  begin  to  hate  the  name  of  Mrs.  Ward,"  said 
Cardew  with  some  asperity. 

"  My  cousin  spoke  most  highly  of  the  school,"  continued 
Mrs.  Cardew.  "  She  said  that  two  years  there,  or  perhaps  a 
little  longer,  would  give  the  girls  that  knowledge  of  life  which 
will  be  all-essential  to  them  in  the  future." 

"  Home  education  is  best;  I  know  it  is  best,"  said  Mr.  Gar- 
dew.  "  I  hate  girls'  schools." 

"I  gave  her  to  understand,  dear,  that  those  were  your 
views;  but  I  have  something  else  to  tell  you.  You  know  how 
attached  we  both  are  to  the  dear  Tristrams." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Gardew  with  impatience. 

"  Well,  at  supper  yesterday  evening  Mr.  Tristram  began  to 
talk  to  me  on  the  very  same  subject  as  my  cousin,  Lady 
Lysle,  had  spoken  of  earlier  in  the  day." 

"  Very  interfering  of  Tristram,"  replied  Mr.  Cardew. 

"  He  didn't  mean  it  in  that  way,  I  assure  you,  my  love; 
nothing  could  be  nicer  than  the  way  he  spoke.  I  was  telling 
him — for  I  had  not  mentioned  the  fact  to  you,  and  it  was 
troubling  me  a  little— about  Miss  Beverley  and  Mr.  Bennett, 
and  asking  his  advice,  as  I  often  do.  He  immediately  urged 
Aylmer  House  as  the  best  possible  substitute  for  Miss  Bev- 
f-rloy  and  Mr.  Bennett.  I  repeated  almost  the  same  words 
I  had  used  to  Lucia  Lysle — namely,  that  you  were  dead-set 
against  girls'  schools." 

"  That  was  scarcely  polite,  my  love,  seeing  that  he  sends 
his  own  daughters  to  school." 

"Well,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew;  "but  of  course  their  cir- 
cumstances are  very  different." 

"  I  would  be  sorry  if  he  should  feel  that  difference,  Sylvia. 
Tristram  is  a  most  excellent  fellow." 

"He  is — indeed  he  is!"  said  Mrs.  Cardew.    "Feeling  for 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  41 

him,  therefore,  as  you  do,  dear,  you  may  perhaps  be  more 
inclined  to  listen  to  an  alternative  which  he  proposed  to  me." 

"And  what  is  that,  my  dear?" 

"  Well,  he  thinks  we  might  occupy  our  house  in  London. 
during  the  school  terms  of  each  year — 

"During  the  school  terms  of  each  year!"  echoed  Mr.  Car- 
dew  in  a  voice  of  dismay.  "  But  I  hate  living  in  Londpn." 

"Yes,  dearest;  but  you  see  we  must  think  of  our  girls. 
If  you  and  I  took  the  children  to  town  they  could  have 
governesses  and  masters — the  very  best — and  would  thus 
be  sufficiently  educated  to  take  their  place  in  society." 

Mr.  Cardew  was  quite  silent  for  a  full  minute  after  his 
wife  had  made  this  suggestion.  To  tell  the  truth,  she  had 
done  a  somewhat  extraordinary  thing.  Amongst  this  great 
lady's  many  rich  possessions  was  a  splendid  mansion  in 
Grqsvenor  Street;  but,  as  she  hated  what  is  called  London 
society,  it  had  long  been  let  to  different  tenants,  for  nothing 
would  induce  the  Cardews  to  leave  their  delightful  home, 
with  its  fresh  air  and  country  pursuits,  for  the  dingy  old 
house  in  town.  They  knew  that  when  the  girls  came  out — 
a  far-distant  date  as  yet — they  would  have  to  occupy  the 
house  in  Grosvenor  Street  for  the  season;  but  Mrs.  Cardew's 
suggestion  that  they  should  go  there  almost  immediately  for 
the  sake  of  their  daughters'  education  was  more  annoying 
to  her  -husband  than  he  could  possibly  endure. 
..  "  I  consider  the  rector  very  officious,"  he  said.  "  Nothing 
would  induce  me  to  live  in  town." 

"  I  thought  you  would  feel  like  that,  dear.  I  was  certain 
of  it." 

"  You  surely  would  not  wish  it  yourself,  Sylvia?" 

"  I  should  detest  it  beyond  words,"  she  replied. 

"  Besides,  the  house  is  occupied,"  said  Mr.  Cardew,  catch- 
ing at  any  excuse  not  to  carry  out  this  abominable  plan,  as 
he  termed  it. 

"  Well,  dear,  at  the  present  moment  it  is  not.  I  had  a 
letter  a  week  ago  from  our  agent  to  ask  if  he  should  relet  it 
for  the  winter  and  next  season,  and  I  have  not  yet  replied 
to  him." 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  Sylvia!    We  cannot  go  to  live  there." 

"  I  don't  wish  it,  my  love." 

The  pair  sat  quite  silent  after  Mrs.  Cardew  had  made  this 
last  remark. 

After  a  time  her  husband  said,  "  We're  really  placed  in  a 
very  cruel  dilemma;  but  doubtless  there  are  schools  and 
schools.  Now,  I  feel  that  the  time  has  arrived  when  I  oughk 
to  tell  you  about  Merry." 

"  What  about  the  dear  child?  "  asked  her  mother.  "  Isn't 
she  well?" 

"Absolutely  and  perfectly  -well,  but  our  dear  little  girl 
is  consumed  by  the  fever  of  discontent." 

"  My  dear,  you  must  be  mistaken." 

"  I  am  not.    Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  has  happened." 


42  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Mr.  Cardew  then  related  his  brief  interview  with  Merry, 
and  Merry's  passionate  desire  to  go  to  Aylmer  House. 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  her,  love?  "  asked  his  wife. 

"  I  told  her  it  was  impossible,  of  course." 

"  But  it  really  isn't,  dear,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Gardew  in 
a  low  tone;  "  and  as  you  cannot  make  up  your  mind  to  live 
in  London,  those  two  vacancies  at  Aylmer  House  seem  provi- 
dential." 

At  these  words  Mr.  Cardew  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Nothing 
will  ever  shake  my  opinion  with  regard  to  school-life,"  he 
said. 

"  And  yet  the  life  in  town " 

"  That  is  impossible.  Look  me  straight  in  the  face,  Sylvia. 
If  by  any  chance — don't,  please,  imagine  that  I'm  giving 
way — but  if,  by  any  possible  chance,  I  were  to  yield,  could 
you,  my  darling,  live  without  your  girls?" 

"  With  you — I  could,"  she  answered,  and  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  him,  which  he  raised  to  his  lips  and  kissed. 

"  Well,  I  am  upset,"  he  said.  "  If  only  Miss  Beverley  and 
Bennett  were  not  so  silly,  we  should  not  be  in  this  awkward 
fix.  I'll  go  for  a  ride,  if  you  don't  mind,  Sylvia,  and  be  back 
with  you  in  an  hour's  time." 

During  that  ride  Mr.  Cardew  felt  as  a  strong  man  does 
when  his  most  cherished  wishes  are  opposed,  and  when 
circumstance,  with  its  overpowering  weight,  bears  down 
every  objection.  Beyond  doubt  the  girls  must  be  educated. 
Beyond  doubt  the  scheme  of  living  in  London  could  not  be 
entertained.  Country  life  was  essential.  Meredith  Manor 
must  not  be  deserted  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year.  He 
might  visit  the  girls  whenever  he  went  to  London;  but,  after 
all,  he  was  now  more  or  less  a  sleeping  partner  in  his  great 
firm.  There  was  no  necessity  for  him  to  go  to  London  more 
than  four  or  five  times  a  year.  Oh!  school  was  hateful,  but 
little  Merry  had  longed  for  it.  How  troublesome  education 
was!  Surely  the  girls  knew  enough. 

He  was  riding  home,  his  thoughts  still  in  a  most  perturbed 
condition,  when  he  suddenly  drew  up  just  in  front  of  a  little 
figure  who  stood  by  the  roadside,  attired  as  a  gipsy,  with  a 
scarlet  bandana  handkerchief  twisted  round  her  head,  a  short 
skirt  reaching  not  quite  to  her  ankles  made  also  of  scarlet, 
and  a  little  gay  blue  shawl  across  her  shoulders.  She  was 
carrying  a  tambourine  in  one  hand  and  in  the  other  a  great 
bunch  of  many-colored  ribbons. 

This  little,  unexpected  figure  was  seen  close  to  the  rectory 
grounds,  and  Mr.  Cardew  was  so  startled  by  it,  and  so  also 
was  his  horse,  that  he  drew  up  abruptly  and  looked  imperi- 
ously at  the  small  suppliant  for  his  favor. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Maggie  Howland,  speaking  in  her 
most  enticing  voice,  and  knowing  well  that  her  dress  mag- 
nified her  charms,  "  will  you,  kind  sir,  allow  me  to  cross  your 
hand  with  silver  and  let  me  tell  your  fortune?  " 

Mr.  Cardew  now  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  43 

"Why,  Miss  Rowland,"  he  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon;  I  did 
not  recognize  you." 

Maggie  .dropped  a  low  curtsy.  "  I'm  the  gipsy  girl  Cara- 
nina,  and  I  should  like  to  tell  your  fortune,  kind  and  gener- 
ous sir." 

Just  then  the  pretty  face  of  Cicely  was  seen  peeping  over 
the  rectory  grounds.  She  was  dressed  as  a  flower-girl,  and 
looked  more  lovely  than  he  had  ever  seen  her  before. 

"Why,  dad,  dad,"  she  cried,  "oh!  you  must  come  in  and 
join  our  fun.  Mustn't  he,  Maggie?  " 

"I  am  Caranina,  the  gipsy  girl,"  said  Maggie,  dropping 
another  low  curtsy,  and  holding  her  little  tambourine  in  the 
most  beseeching  attitude;  "  and  you  are  Flora,  queen  of  the 
flowers." 

"  Well,  really,  this  is  entertaining,"  said  Mr.  Cardew. 
"What  queer  little  minxes  you  all  are!  And  may  I  really 
come  in  and  see  the  fun?  " 

"  Indeed  you  may,  dad,"  said  the  flower-girl.  "  Oh,  and 
please  we  want  you  to  look  at  Merry.  Merry's  a  fairy,  with 
wings.  We're  going  to  have  what  we  call  an  evening  revel 
presently,  and  we  are  all  in  our  dress  for  the  occasion.  But 
Maggie — I  mean  Caranina — is  telling  our  fortunes — that  is, 
until  the  real  fun  begins." 

"Do  please  come  in,  Mr.  Cardew.  This  is  the  height  of 
good  luck,"  said  Mrs.  Tristram,  coming  forward  herself  at 
this  moment.  "Won't  you  join  my  husband  and  me  under 
the  shadow  of  the  tent  yonder?  The  young  people  are  hav- 
ing such  a  good  time." 

"  I  will  come  for  a  minute  or  two,"  said  Cardew,  dismount- 
ing as  he  spoke.  "  Can  some  one  hold  Hector  for  me?  " 

David  was  quickly  summoned,  and  Mr.  Cardew  walked 
across  the  hay-field  to  where  the  hastily  improvised  tent 
was  placed. 

"No  one  can  enter  here  who.d9esn't  submit  to  the  will  of 
the  gipsy,"  remarked  Caranina  in  her  clear  and  beautiful 
voice.  "  This  is  my  tent,  and  I  tell  the  fortunes  of  all  those 
kind  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  will  permit  me  to  do  so." 

"  Then  you  shall  tell  mine,  with  pleasure,  little  maid," 
said  Mr.  Cardew,  who  felt  wonderfully  cheered  and  enter- 
tained at  this  al  fresco  amusement. 

Quick  as  thought  Maggie  had  been  presented  with  a  silver 
coin.  With  this  she  crossed  the  good  gentleman's  palm,  and 
murmured  a  few  words  with  regard  to  his  future.  There 
was  nothing  whatever  remarkable  in  her  utterance,  for 
Maggie  knew  nothing  of  palmistry,  and  was  only  a  very 
pretense  gipsy  fortune-teller.  But  she  was  quick — quicker 
than  mostr— in  reading  character;  and  as  she  glanced  now 
into  Mr.  Cardew's  face  an  inspiration  seized  her. 

"  He  is  troubled  about  something,"  thought  the  girl.  "  It's 
the  thin  end  of  the  wedge;  I'll  push  it  in  a  little  farther." 

Her  voice  dropped  to  a  low  tone.  "  I  see  in  your  hand, 
kind  sir,"  she  said,  "  all  happiness,  long  life,  and  prosperity; 


44  THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

but  I  also  see  a  little  cross,  just  here — "  she  pointed  with  her 
pretty  finger—"  and  it  means  self-sacrifice  for  the  sake  of  a 
great  and  lasting  good.  Kind  sir,  I  have  nothing  more  to  add." 

Mr.  Gardew  left  the  tent  and  sat  down  beside  the  rector  and 
his  wife.  Maggie's  words  were  really  unimportant.  As  one 
after  the  other  the  merry  group  of  actors  went  to  have  their 
fortunes  told  he  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  them.  Gipsy 
fortune-tellers  always  mixed  a  little  sorrow  with  their  joy- 
ful tidings.  It  was  a  bewitching  little  gipsy  after  all.  He 
could  not  quite  make  out  her  undefined  charm,  but  he  was 
interested  in  her;  and  after  a  time,  when  the  fortune-telling 
had  come  to  an  end  and  Maggie  was  about  to  change  her 
dress  for  what  they  called  the  evening  revels,  he  crossed  the 
field  and  stood  near  her. 

"  So  you,  Miss  Howland,  have  been  telling  my  daughter 
Merry  a  good  many  things  with  regard  to  your  new  school?  " 

She  raised  her  queer,  bright  eyes,  and  looked  him  full  in 
the  face.  "  I  have  told  Merry  a  few  things,"  she  said;  "  but, 
most  of  all,  I  have  assured  her  that  Aylmer  House  is  the 
happiest  place  in  the  world." 

"  Happier  than  home?  Should  you  say  it  was  happier 
than  home,  Miss  Howrland?" 

"  Happier  than  my  home,"  said  Maggie  with  a  little  sigh, 
very  gentle  and  almost  imperceptible,  in  her  voice.  "  Oh, 
I  love  it!"  she  continued  with  enthusiasm;  "for  it  helps — 
I  mean,  the  life  there  helps — to  make  one  good." 

Mr.  Cardew  said  nothing  more.  After  a  time  he  bade  his 
friends  good-by  and  returned  to  Meredith  Manor.  In  course 
of  time  the  little  pony-carriage  was  sent  down  to  the  rectory 
for  the  Cardew  girls,  who  went  back  greatly  elated. 

How  delightful  their  evening  had  been,  and  what  a  mar- 
velous girl  Maggie  Howland  was! 

"  Why,  she  even  manages  to  subdue  and  to  rule  those 
really  tiresome  boys,"  said  Cicely. 

"  Yes,"  remarked  Merry,  "  she  is  like  no  one  else." 

"  You  have  quite  fallen  in  love  with  her,  haven't  you, 
Merry?" 

"Well,  perhaps  I  have  a  little  bit,"  said  Merry.  She 
looked  thoughtful.  She  longed  to  say  to  Cicely,  "  How  I  wish 
beyond  all  things  on  earth  that  I  were  going  to  the  same 
school! "  But  a  certain  fidelity  to  her  father  kept  her  silent. 

She  was  startled,  therefore,  when  Cicely  herself,  who  was 
always  supposed  to  be  much  calmer  than  Merry,  and  less 
vehement  in  her  desires,  clasped  her  sister's  hand  and  said 
with  emphasis,  "  I  don't  know,  after  all,  if  it  is  good  for  us 
to  see  too  much  of  Maggie  Howland." 

"  Why,  Cissie?    What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  this,"  said  Cicely :  "  she  makes  me — yes,  I  will 
say  it — discontented." 

"And  rne  too,"  said  Merry,  uttering  the  words  with  an 
emphasis  which  astonished  h'M-self. 

"  We  have  talked  of  school  over  and  over  again,"   said 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  45 

Cicely,  "  with  Molly  and  Belle;  but  notwithstanding  their  glow- 
ing accounts  we  have  been  quite  satisfied  with  Miss  Beverley, 
and  dear,  gray-haired  Mr.  Bennett,  and  Mr.  Yaughan;  but  now 
T,  for  one,  don't  feel  satisfied  any  longer." 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  Merry. 

"Oh  Merry!" 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Merry.    "  I  want  to  go  to  Aylmer  House." 

"  And  I  am  almost  mad  to  go  there,"  said  Cicely. 

"  I'll  tell  you  something,  Cissie.  I  spoke  to  father  about 
it  to-day." 

"Merryl  you  didn't  dare?" 

"  Well,  I  just  did.  I  couldn't  help  myself.  It  is  hateful 
to  be  under-educated,  and  you  know  we  shall  never  be  like 
other  girls  if  we  don't  see  something  of  the  world." 

"He  didn't  by  any  chance  agree  with  you?"  said  Cicely. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Merry.  "  We  must  bear  with  our 
present  life,  only  perhaps  we  oughtn't  to  see  too  much  of 
Maggie  Rowland." 

"  Well,"  said  Cicely,  "  I've  something  to  tell  you,  Merry." 

"What's  that?" 

"  You  don't  know  just  at  present  why  mother  and  I  went 
to  Warwick  this  morning?  " 

"  No,"  said  Merry,  who  was  rather  uninterested.  "  I  had 
a  very  good  time  with  Maggie,  and  didn't  miss  you  too  dread- 
fully." 

"  WTell,  you  will  be  interested  to  know  why  we  did  go, 
all  the  same,"  said  Cicely.  "  It's  because  Miss  Beverley  is 
knocked  up  and  can't  teach  us  any  more,  and  Mr.  Bennett  is 
going  to  London.  Mother  can't  hear  of  anyone  to  take  Miss 
Beverley's  place,  or  of  any  music-teacher  equal  to  Mr.  Ben- 
nett; so,  somehow  or  other,  I  feel  that  there  are  changes  in 
the  air.  Oh  Merry,  Merry!  suppose — 

"  There's  no  use  in  it,"  said  Merry.  "  Father  will  never 
change.  We'll  get  some  other  dreadfully  dull  daily  gov- 
erness, and  some  other  fearfully  depressing  music-master, 
and  we'll  never  be  like  Molly  and  Belle  and  Maggie  and  our 
cousin  Aneta.  It  does  seem  hard." 

"  We  must  try  not  to  be  discontented,"  said  Cicely. 

"  Then  we  had  best  not  ask  Maggie  here  too  often,"  re- 
plied Merry. 

"  Oh,  but  they're  all  coming  up  to-morrow  morning,  for  I 
have  asked  them,"  said  Cicely. 

"  Dear,  dear!  "  replied  Merry. 

"  We  may  as  well  have  what  fun  we  can,"  remarked 
Cicely,  "  for  you  know  we  shall  be  going  to  the  seaside  in 
ten  days." 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
MRS.  WARD'S  SCHOOL. 

IT  is  to  be  regretted  that  Mr.  Cardew  spent  a  restless  night. 
Mrs.  Cardew,  on  the  contrary,  slept  with  the  utmost  peace. 


46  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

She  trusted  so  absolutely  in  her  husband's  judgment  and  in 
in  his  power  to  do  the  very  best  he  could  on  all  possible 
occasions  for  her  and  hers  that  she  was  never  deeply  troubled 
about  anything.  Her  dear  husband  must  not  be  forced  to 
live  in  London  if  he  did  not  like  to  do  so,  and  some  arrange- 
ment must  be  made  for  the  girls1  home  education  if  he  could 
not  see  his  way  to  sending  them  io  school. 

Great,  therefore,  was'  her  astonishment  on  the  following 
morning  when  he  came  hastily  into  her  room. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  am  off  to  London  for  the  day." 

"What  for?"  she  asked. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  darling,  when  I  return  to-night." 

"Cyril,  may  I  not  come  with  you?" 

"  I  think  not,  my  love.  Make  all  the  young  people  as  happy 
as  you  can.  I'm  just  off  to  the  station  in  the  motor-car." 

Mr.  Cardew  left  his  wife's  room.  The  girls  were  told  at 
breakfast  that  their  father  had  gone  to  London;  but  as  this 
frequently  happened,  and  was  invariably  connected  with 
that  business  which  they  knew  nothing  whatever  about,  they 
were  not  keenly  interested.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were 
much  more  absorbed  in  getting  things  ready  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  their  friends;  and  in  this  Mrs.  Cardew  very 
heartily  joined  them.  She  proposed  that  during  Maggie 
Howland's  visit  the  five  girls  should  have  as  happy  a  time 
together  as  possible;  and  as  the  weather  was  perfect  the 
invariable  picnics  and  gipsy  teas  were  arranged  for  their 
benefit. 

"  You  can  all  make  yourselves  happy  here  to-day,  my 
darlings,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew,  addressing  Cicely  and  Merry. 
"  To-morrow,  when  your  father  is  here,  the  Tristrams,  he 
and  I,  and  you  girls  will  have  a  very  pleasant  picnic  to  the 
Aldersleigh  woods.  We  will  arrange  it  to-day,  for  there  is 
nothing  your  father  enjoys  more  than  a  whole,  long,  happy 
day  in  the  open  air.  I  will  speak  to  Mrs.  Fairlight,  and  tell 
her  to  have  all  things  in  readiness  for  our  picnic." 

"Oh  mummy,  how  good!  how  good!"  said  Merry,  clasping 
her  mother's  hand.  Then  she  added,  "  Mummy,  is  it  true 
that  Miss  Beyerley  is  never  going  to  teach  us  any  more?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  only  too  true,  Merry;  but  this  is  holiday- 
time,  darling;  we  needn't  talk  of  your  education  just  at 
present." 

"Only,  we  must  be  educated — mustn't  we,  mother?" 

"  Of  course,  dearest.    Your  father  will  see  to  that." 

Merry  ran  off  to  join  her  sister,  and  it  is  not  too  much 
to  say  that  the  whole  of  that  glorious  day  was  one  of  un- 
alloyed pleasure.  The  Tristram  girls  were  always  delight- 
ful to  the  Cardew  girls,  but  now  that  they  were  accom- 
panied by  Maggie  Howland  there  was  a  great  addition  to 
their  charm.  Nevertheless,  Maggie,  with  her  purpose  full 
in  view,  with  her  heart  beating  a  little  more  quickly  than 
usuaj  when  she  heard  that  Mr.  Cardew  had  gone  to  London, 
religiously  avoided  the  subject  of  the  life  at  Aylmer  House. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  47 

She  felt,  somehow,  that  she  had  done  her  part.  A  great  deal 
of  her  own  future  depended  on  these  two  girls  coming  to 
Aylmer  House.  She  would  make  use  of  them — large  use  of 
them — at  school.  She  was  fond  of  Molly  and  Belle;  but  they 
were  poor.  Maggie  herself  was  poor.  She  wanted  to  have 
rich  friends.  The  Cardews  were  rich.  By  their  means  she 
would  defeat  her  enemy,  Aneta  Lysle,  and  establish  herself 
not  only  in  the  school  but  with  regard  to  her  future  life. 
Maggie  felt  that  she  could  make  herself  indispensable  to 
Cicely  and  Merry.  Oh  yes,  they  would  certainly  go  to 
Aylmer  House  in  September.  She  need  not  worry  herself 
any  further,  therefore,  with  regard  to  that  matter.  Little 
would  they  guess  how  much  she  had  really  done  toward  this 
desirable  goal,  and  how  fortunate  circumstances  had  been  in 
aiding  her  to  the  accomplishment  of  her  desire.  It  was 
enough  for  Maggie  that  they  were  certainly  going.  She 
could,  therefore,  give  herself  up  to  enjoyment. 

With  Maggie  Howland  enjoyment  meant  a  very  different 
thing  from  what  it  does  to  the  average  English  girl.  She 
enjoyed  herself  with  all  her  heart  and  soul,  without  one 
single  reservation.  To  see  her  face  at  such  moments  was 
to  behold  pure  sunshine;  to  hear  her  voice  was  to  listen  to 
the  very  essence  of  laughter  and  happiness.  She  had  a 
marvelous  power  of  telling  stories,  and  when  she  was  happy 
she  told  them  with  such  verve  that  all  people  within  earshot 
hung  on  her  words.  Then  she  could  improvise,  and  dance, 
and  take  off  almost  any  character;  in  short,  she  was  the 
life  of  every  party  who  admitted  her  within  their  circle. 

Meanwhile  a  rather  tired  and  rather  sad  man  found  him- 
self, very  much  against  his  will,  in  London.  He  said  to 
himself,  "  This  wonderful  Mrs.  Ward  will  not  be  at  Aylmer 
House  now.  These  are  the  holidays,  and  she  will  be  prob- 
ably miles  away.  I  will  go  to  see  her.  Yes,  but  she  won't 
be  in;  that  alone  will  clinch  the  matter.  But  first  I  will  pay 
a  visit  to  Lucia  Lysle;  she  said  she  would  be  in  London — 
she  told  my  dear  wife  so.  But  Lucia  is  so  erratic,  it  is  most 
improbable  that  she  either  will  be  at  home." 

Mr.  Cardew  drove  first  of  all  to  Lady  Lysle's  house  in  Hans 
Place.  He  asked  if  she  was  within,  and,  very  much  to  his 
annoyance,  the  servant  replied  in  the  affirmative.  He  en- 
tered Lady  Lysle's  drawing-room  feeling  rather  silly.  The 
first  person  he  saw  there  was  a  tall,  slim,  lovely  girl,  whom 
he  did  not  recognize  at  first,  but  who  knew  him  and  ran  up 
to  him  and  introduced  herself  as  Aneta. 

"Why,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  how  are  you?  How  you  have 
grown ! " 

"  How  is  dear  Cousin  Sylvia,  and  how  are  Cicely  and 
Merry?"  asked  Aneta.  "Oh,  I  am  very  well  indeed,  Mr. 
Cardew;  I  don't  suppose  anybody  could  be  anything  but  well 
who  was  lucky  enough  to  be  at  Aylmer  House." 

"Mrs.  Ward's  school?"  said  Mr.  Cardew,  feeling  rather 
shy  and  almost  self-conscious. 


48  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  Of  course.    Don't  you  know  Mrs.  Ward,  Mr.  Cardew?  " 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  don't." 

"  It's  the  most  marvelous  school  in  the  world,"  said  Aneta 
with  enthusiasm.  "  I  do  wish  you  would  send  Cicely  and 
Merry  there.  They  would  have  a  good  time." 

"  Is  your  aunt  in?  "  said  Mr.  Cardew,  a  little  restlessly. 

"Oh  yes;  she'll  be  down  in  a  minute." 

Lady  Lysle  now  hurried  into  the  room. 

"How  do  you  do,  Cyril?"  she  said.  "I  didn't  expect  to 
find  you  in  town  just  now.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you?  " 

"  I  am  rather  anxious  to  have  a  chat  with  you,"  replied 
Mr.  Cardew. 

"  Aneta  darling,  you  had  better  leave  us,"  said  her  aunt. 

The  girl  went  off  with  a  light  laugh.  "  Auntie,"  she  said, 
"I've  just  been  telling  Mr.  Cardew  that  he  ought  to  send 
Cicely  and  Merry  to  Aylmer  House."  She  closed  the  door 
as  she  made  this  parting  shot. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  agree  with  Aneta,"  said  Lady  Lysle. 
"A  couple  of  years  at  that  splendid  school  would  do  the 
girls  no  end  of  good." 

Mr.  Cardew  was  silent  for  a  minute.  "  I  may  as  well  con- 
fess something  to  you,  Lucia  "  he  said  then. 

"What  is  it,  Cyril?" 

"  I  have  by  no  means  made  up  my  mind;  but  we  are  very 
much  annoyed  at  the  illness  of  our  daily  governess  Miss 
Beverley,  and  at  the  girls'  music-master  Mr.  Bennett  remov- 
ing to  London.  So  I  just  thought  I  would  ask  you  a  question 
er  two  about  this  wonderful  Mrs.  Ward.  I  don't  suppose  for 
a  single  moment  I  should  dream  of  sending  the  children 
there;  and,  besides,  she  is  not  in  London  now,  is  she?" 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  replied  Lady  Lysle.  Mr.  Cardew  felt  at 
that  moment  that  he-  hated  Mrs.  Ward.  "  She  came  to  see 
me  only  last  evening.  She  is  leaving  town  to-morrow;  but 
if  by  any  chance  you  would  like  to  go  and  see  her,  and  thus 
judge  of  the  school  for  yourself — it  would  commit  you  to 
nothing,  of  course — she  will,  I  know,  be  at  home  all  this 
morning." 

"Dear,  dear!"  said  Mr.  Cardew.     "How  very  provoking!" 

"What  do  you  mean.  Cyril?" 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  of  course,  Lucia.  But  if,  as  you  say, 
the  school  is  so  popular,  there  will  be  no  vacancies,  for  I 
think  some  one  told  me  that  Mrs.  Ward  only  took  a  limited 
number  of  pupils." 

"  There  are  two  vacancies  at  the  present  moment,"  said 
Lady  Lysle  in  her  calm  voice,  "  although  they  are  likely  to 
be  filled  up  immediately,  for  Mrs.  Ward  has  had  many  appli- 
cations; but  then  she  is  exceedingly  particular,  and  will  only 
take  girls  of  high  birth  and  of  very  distinguished  character." 

"  Doubtless  she  has  filled  up  the  vacancies  by  this  morn- 
ing," said  Mr.  Cardew,  rising  with  some  alacrity.  "Well. 
thank  you,  Lucia.  As  I  am  in  town — came  un  on  businp:; .•;, 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  49 

you  know — I  may  as  well  just  have  a  look  at  Aylmer  House 
and  Mrs.  Ward.  It  will  satisfy  my  dear  wife." 

"  Why,  surely  you  don't  for  a  minute  really  intend  to  send 
the  girls  there?  "  said  Lady  Lysle  with  a  superior  smile. 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  I  may  do.  When  a  man  is  distracted, 
and  when  a  valuable  daily  governess  breaks  down,  and — • 
and — don't  question  me  too  closely,  Lucia,  and  keep  pur  lit- 
tle interview  to  yourself.  As  I  have  just  said,  nothing  will 
probably  come  of  this;  but  I  will  go  and  see  tne  lady  just 
to  satisfy  myself." 

"  Aneta  will  be  delighted  if  you  do  send  the  girls  to  Aylmer 
House,"  was  Lady  Lysle's  last  word. 

She  laughed  as  she  spoke,  and  Mr.  Cardew  found  himself 
turning  rather  red.  He  left  her,  called  a  hansom,  and  got 
into  it. 

"Of  course  the  vacancies  will  be  filled  up,"  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  was  driving  in  the  direction  of  South  Kensing- 
ton. He  further  thought,  "  Although  that  good  Mrs.  Ward 
is  remaining  for  such  an  unconscionable  time  in  town,  she 
will  very  probably  be  out  this  morning.  If  she  is  out  that 

Euts  an  end  to  everything;  but  even  if  she  is  in,  she  must 
ave  filled  up  her  vacancies.  Then  I  shall  be  able  to  return 
to  the  Manor  with  a  quiet  mind.  I'll  have  done  my  best, 
and  the  thing  will  be  taken  out  of  my  hands.  Dear  little 
Merry!  I  didn't  like  that  discontent  on  her  sweet  face.  Ah, 
well,  she  can't  guess  what  school  is  like.  It's  not  home; 
but  I  suppose  the  educational  advantages  would  be  greater, 
and  a  man  must  sacrifice  himself  for  his  children.  Odd 
what  that  queer  little  Miss  Howland  told  me  last  night:  that 
I  was  approaching  a  deed  of  self-sacrifice.  She's  a  queer 
girl,  but  quite  nice;  and  Aneta  is  a  charming  creature.  I 
could  never  desire  even  one  of  my  own  precious  girls  to 
look  nicer  than  Aneta  does.  Well,  here  I  am.  Now,  then, 
what  will  Fate  decide?" 

Mr.  Cardew  sprang  from  the  hansom,  desired  the  man  to 
wait,  ran  up  some  low  steps,  and  rang  the  bell  at  the  front 
door  of  a  stately  mansion. 

A  smiling,  very  bright-looking  maid-servant  opened  it 
for  him. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Ward  within?  "  questioned  Cardew. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"Good  heavens!"  murmured  Cardew  under  his  breath. 

44  Is  she  disengaged,  and  can  she  give  me  a  few  moments 
of  her  time?"  continued  the  much-disappointed  gentleman. 

"  Certainly,  sir.  Will  you  come  into  the  drawing-room? 
What  name  shall  I  say?" 

Cardew  produced  one  of  his  cards. 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  tell  your  mistress  that  if  she  is 
particularly  engaged  I  can  " — he  hesitated — "  call  another 
time." 

"I  will  tell  her,  sir;  but  Mrs.  Ward  is  not  particularly 
engaged.  She  will  see  you,  I  am  sure,  directly." 


50  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

The  girl  withdrew,  and  Cardew  sank  into  a  low  chair. 

He  had  to  wait  a  few  minutes,  and  during  that  time  had 
abundant  leisure  to  look  round  the  beautiful  room  in  which 
he  found  himself.  It  was  so  furnished  as  to  resemble  a 
fresh  country  room.  The  wall-paper  was  white;  the  pic- 
tures were  all  water-colors,  all  original,  and  all  the  works 
of  well-known  artists.  They  mostly  represented  country 
scenes,  but  there  were  a  few  admirable  portraits  of  charm- 
ing girls  just  in  the  heyday  of  youth  and  happiness.  The 
floor  was  of  polished  oak  and  had  a  large  pale-blue  drugget 
in  the  center,  which  could  be  rolled  up  at  any  moment  if 
an  impromptu  dance  was  desirable.  The  large  windows 
had  boxes  of  flowers  outside,  which  were  fresh  and  well 
kept,  and  had  evidently  been  recently  watered,  for  some 
sparkling  drops  which  looked  almost  like  summer  rain  still 
glistened  on  them.  The  room  itself  was  also  decked  with 
flowers  in  every  available  corner,  and  all  these  flowers  were 
fresh  and  beautifully  arranged.  They  were  country  flowers 
— and  of  course  roses,  roses  everywhere.  There  were  also 
great  bowls  of  mignonette  and  large  glass  vases  filled  with 
sweet  peas. 

The  air  of  the  room  was  fresh  and  full  of  delicate  per- 
fume. Mr.  Cardew  had  to  admit  to  himself  that  this  was 
a  room  in  which  the  most  refined  young  ladies  in  the  world 
might  sit  with  pleasure  and  profit.  There  was  a  shelf  for 
books  running  round  the  dado,  and  the  books  therein  were 
good  of  their  kind  and  richly  and  handsomely  bound.  There 
were  no  small  tables  anywhere.  Mr.  Cardew  was  glad  of 
that — he  detested  small  tables;  but  there  was  a  harp  stand- 
ing close  to  the  magnificent  grand  piano,  and  several  music 
stands,  and  a  violin  case  on  a  chair  near  by. 

The  furniture  of  the  room  was  covered  with  a  cool,  fresh 
chintz.  In  short,  it  was  a  charming  room,  quite  different 
from  the  rooms  at  Meredith  Manor,  which,  of  course,  were 
old  and  magnificent  and  stately;  but  it  had  a  refreshing, 
wholesome  look  about  it  which,  in  spite  of  himself,  Mr.  Car- 
dew  appreciated. 

He  had  just  taken  in  the  room  and  its  belongings  when  the 
door  was  opened  and  a  lady  of  about  thirty-five  years  of 
age  entered.  She  was  dressed  very  simply  in  a  long  dress 
made  in  a  sort  of  Empire  fashion.  The  color  was  pale  blue, 
which  suited  her  calm,  fair  face,  her  large,  hazel-brown 
eyes,  and  her  rich  chestnut  hair  to  perfection.  She  came 
forward  swiftly. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Ward,"  she  said,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

Mr.  Cardew  considered  himself  a  connoisseur  as  regards 
all  women,  and  he  was  immediately  impressed  by  a  certain 
quality  in  that  face:  a  mingling  of  sweetness  and  power,  of 
extreme  gentleness  and  extreme  determination.  There  was 
a  lofty  expression  in  the  eyes,  too,  and  round  the  mouth, 
which  further  appealed  to  him;  and  the  hands  of  the  lady  were 
perfect— they  were  white,  somewhat  long,  with  tapering  fin- 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  51 

gers  and  well-kept  nails.  There  was  one  signet  ring  on 
the  left  hand,  worn  as  a  guard  to  the  wedding-ring — that 
was  all. 

Mr.  Cardew  was  a  keen  observer,  and  he  noted  these 
things  at  a  glance. 

"I  have  come  to  talk  to  you,  Mrs.  Ward,"  he  said;  "and, 
if  you  will  forgive  me,  I  should  like  to  be  quite  frank  with 
you." 

"  There  is  nothing  I  desire  better,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  in  her 
exceedingly  high-bred  and  sympathetic  voice. 

That  voice  reminded  Cardew  of  Maggie  Howland,  and  yet 
he  felt  at  once  that  it  was  infinitely  superior  to  hers. 

"  Sit  down,  won't  you,  Mr.  Cardew?  "  said  Mrs.  Ward,  and 
she  set  him  the  example  by  seating  herself  in  a  low  chair 
as  she  spoke. 

"I  hope  I  am  not  taking  up  too  much  of  your  time," 
he  said;  "for,  if  so,  as  I  said  to  your  servant,  I  can  call 
again." 

"By  no  means,"  said  Mrs.  Ward;  "I  have  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  this  morning.  I  am,  therefore,  quite  at  your 
service.  You  will  tell  me  what  you  wish?"  she  said  in  that 
magnetic  voice  of  hers. 

"  The  fact  is  simply  this,"  he  said.  "  My  friend  Tristram, 
who  is  rector  of  Meredith,  in  Warwickshire,  is  sending  his 
two  daughters  to  your  school." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  gently.  "  Molly  and  Isabel  are 
coming  to  me  next  'term." 

"  I  am  Tristram's  near  neighbor,"  said  Mr.  Cardew,  "  I  live 
at  Meredith  Manor.  At  the  present  moment  the  Tristram 

Sirls  have  another  pupil  of  yours  staying  with  them — Miss 
owland." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  very  quietly. 

"  Lady  Lysle's  niece  Aneta  is  also  one  of  your  pupils." 

"  That  is  true,  Mr.  Cardew." 

"  Lady  Lysle  is  my  wife's  cousin." 

Mrs.  Ward  bowed  very  slightly. 

"  I  will  come  to  the  point  now,  Mrs,  Ward.  I  am  the  father 
of  two  little  girls.  They  are  of  the  same  age  as  Molly  and 
Isabel  Tristram;  that  is,  they  are  both  just  sixteen.  They 
are  twins.  They  are  my  only  children.  Some  day  they  will 
be  rich,  for  we  have  no  son,  and  they  will  inherit  considerable 
property."  Mrs.  Ward  looked  scarcely  interested  at  this. 
"  Hitherto,"  continued  Mr.  Cardew,  "  I  have  stoutly  opposed 
school-life  for  my  children,  and  in  consequence  they  have 
been  brought  up  at  home,  and  have  had  the  best  advantages 
that  could  be  obtained  for  them  in  a  country  life.  Things 
went  apparently  all  right  until  two  or  three  days  ago,  when 
I  discovered  that  my  girl — her  name  is  Meredith;  we  call 
her  Merry  for  short — was  exceedingly  anxious  to  change 
her  home-life  for  school-life.  At  the  same  time,  our  ex- 
cellent daily  governess  and  the  music-master  who  taught 
the  children  have  been  obliged  to  discontinue  their  work. 


52  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

The  girls  are  at  an  age  when  education  is  essential;  and,  al- 
though I  hate  schools,  I  have  come  here  to  talk  over  the 
possibility  of  your  receiving  them." 

"  Had  you  delayed  coming  to  me,  Mr.  Gardew,  until  this 
evening  I  should  have  had  no  vacancy,  for  at  the  present 
moment  I  have  twelve  applications  for  the  two  vacancies 
which  are  to  be  filled  at  Aylmer  House.  But  do  you  really 
wish  me  to  consider  the  proposal  of  taking  your  girls  when 
you  hate  school-life  for  young  ladies?" 

Mr.  Cardew  could  not  help  smiling.  "  Then  you  are  not 
anxious  to  have  them?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  unless  you  yourself  and  Mrs.  Cardew  most 
earnestly  desire  to  send  them  to  me.  Suppose,  before  we  go 
any  further,  that  I  take  you  over  the  house." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Cardew  in  a  tone  of  relief. 

Mrs.  Ward  rose  immediately,  and  for  the  next  hour  the 
head-mistress  and  the  owner  of  Meredith  Manor  went  from 
one  dainty  room  to  another.  They  visited  the  gymnasium; 
they  entered  the  studio.  All  the  different  properties  of  the 
music-room  were  explained  to  the  interested  visitor.  The 
excellent  playground  was  also  inspected. 

By-and-by,  when  Mr.  Cardew  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room,  Mrs.  Ward  said,  "  My  number  of  pupils  is  limited. 
You  have  seen  for  yourself  that  sisters  are  provided  with 
a  room  together,  and  that  girls  who  are  not  related  have 
rooms  to  themselves.  The  house  is  well  warmed  in  winter, 
and  at  all  seasons  of  the  year  I  keep  it  bright  and  cheerful 
with  flowers  and  everything  that  a  judicious  expenditure 
of  money  can  secure.  I  have  my  own  special  plan  for  edu- 
cating my  girls.  I  believe  in  personal  influence.  In  short, 
Mr.  Cardew,  I  am  not  at  all  ashamed  to  tell  you  that  I  be- 
lieve in  my  own  influence.  I  have  never  yet  met  a  girl  whom 
I  could  not  influence." 

"  If  by  any  chance  my  Cicely  and  Merry  come  to  you," 
said  Mr.  Cardew,  "  you  will  find  them — I  may  at  least  say  it 
— perfect  ladies  in  word  and  thought  and  deed." 

Mrs.  Ward  bowed.  "  I  could  receive  no  others  within 
this  establishment,"  she  said.  "If,"  continued  Mrs.  Ward, 
"  you  decide  to  entrust  your  daughters  to  me,  I  will  leave 
no  stone  unturned  to  do  my  best  for  them,  to  educate  them 
in  a  three-fold  capacity:  to  induce  their  minds  to  work  as 
God  meant  them  to  work — without  overtoil,  without  undue 
haste,  and  yet  with  intelligence  and  activity;  to  give  them 
such  exercises  as  will  promote  health  to  their  bodies;  and  to 
teach  them,  above  all  things,  to  live  for  others,  not  for  them- 
selves. Please,  Mr.  Cardew,  give  me  no  answer  now,  but 
think  it  over.  The  vacancies  at  Aylmer  House  will  remain 
at  your  disposal  until  four  o'clock  this  afternoon.  Will  you 
send  me  before  that  hour  a  telegram  saying  '  Yes  '  or  '  No  '?  " 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Cardew.  He  wrung  Mrs.  Ward's 
hand  and  left  the  house. 

The  hall  was  as  spacious  and  nearly  as  beautiful  as  the 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  53 

drawing-room,  and  the  pretty,  bright  parlor-maid  smiled 
at  the  gentleman  as  he  went  out.  Mrs.  Ward  remained  for 
a  time  alone  after  her  visitor  had  left. 

"I  should  like  to  have  those  girls,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  Any  girls  related  to  such  a  splendid,  lofty  character  as 
Aneta  could  not  but  be  welcome  to  me.  Their  poor  father, 
he  will  feel  parting  with  them;  but  I  have  no  doubt  that 
I  shall  receive  them  next  September  at  this  house." 

The  thought  had  scarcely  passed  through  her  mind  before 
there  came  a  brisk  ring  at  the  front  door,  and  Lady  Lysle 
and  Aneta  were  announced. 

"Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Ward!"  said  Lady  Lysle,  speaking  in  her 
quick,  impulsive  manner,  "  have  you  seen  my  dear  friend 
and  cousin,  Mr.  Cardew?  " 

"And  are  the  girls  coming  to  the  school?"  asked  Aneta. 

"  I  have  seen  Mr.  Cardew,"  said  Mrs.  Ward.  "  He  is  a 
very  charming  man.  He  will  decide  whether  he  will  send 
his  daughters  here  or  not  during  the  course  of  to-day." 

"  But,"  said  Lady  Lysle,  "  didn't  you  urge  him?  " 

"No,  dear  friend;  I  never  urge  any  one  to  put  a  girl  in 
my  care.  I  should  feel  myself  very  wrong  in  doing  so.  If 
Mr.  Cardew  thinks  well  of  what  he  has  seen  here  he  may 
send  his  daughters  to  me,  but  I  certainly  did  nothing  to 
urge  him." 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Aneta,  "I  should  so  like  them  to  come. 
You  can't  think,  Mrs.  Ward,  what  nice  people  the  Cardews 
are;  and  the  girls — they  do  want  school-life.  Don't  they, 
auntie  darling?" 

"  Such  a  school  as  this  would  do  them  a  world  of  good," 
said  Lady  Lysle. 

"Well,  I  really  hope  they  will  come,"  said  Mrs.  Ward; 
"but  I  quite  understand  their  father's  objections.  They  are 
evidently  very  precious  treasures,  and  he  has  the  sort  of 
objection  which  exists  in  the  minds  of  many  country  gen- 
tlemen to  sending  his  girls  to  school." 

"  Ah,"  said  Aneta,  "  but  there  are  schools  and  schools !  " 

"  The  girls  will  be  exceedingly  rich,"  said  Lady  Lysle. 
"  Their  mother  was  a  Meredith  and  belonged  to  an  old  county 
family.  She  inherits  vast  wealth  and  the  old  family  place. 
Their  father  is  what  may  be  termed  a  merchant-prince. 
By-and-by  all  the  money  of  the  parents  will  go  to  these 
girls.  They  are  very  nice  children,  but  know  nothing  what- 
ever of  the  world.  It  seems  to  me  a  cruel  thing  that  they 
should  be  brought  up  with  no  knowledge  of  the  great  world 
where  they  must  eventually  live." 

"  I  hope  they  will  come  here,"  said  Mrs.  Ward.  "  Great 
wealth  means  great  responsibility.  They  can  make  mag- 
nificent use  of  their  money.  I  should  be  interested  to  have 
them." 

"  I  know  you  would,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Lady  Lysle, 
"  and  they  are  really  quite  sweet  girls.  Now,  come,  Aneta; 
we  must  not  keep  Mrs.  Ward  any  longer." 


54  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.    - 

When  her  visitors  had  left  her  Mrs.  Ward  still  remained 
in  the  pleasant  drawing-room.  She  sank  into  a  lovy  chair, 
folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and  remained  very  still.  Al- 
though she  was  only  thirty-five  years  of  age,  she  had  been 
a  widow  for  over  ten  years.  She  had  married  when  quite 
a  young  girl,  and  had  lost  her  husband  and  child  before 
she  was  five-and-twenty.  It  was  in  her  generous  and  noble 
nature  to  love  most  passionately  and  all  too  well.  For  a  time 
after  her  terrible  trouble  she  scarcely  know  how  to  bear  her 
grief.  Then  she  took  it  to  the  one  place  where  such  sorrow 
can  be  borne — namely,  to  the  foot  of  the  throne  of  God; 
and  afterwards  it  occurred  to  her  to  devote  her  life  to  the 
education  of  others.  She  was  quite  well-off,  and  did  not 
need  to  work  for  her  living.  But  work,  to  a  nature  such  as 
hers,  was  essential.  She  also  needed  the  sympathy  of 
others,  and  the  love  of  others;  and  so,  aided  by  her  friends, 
her  small  but  most  select  school  in  South  Kensington  was 
started. 

From  the  very  first  it  was  a  success.  It  was  unlike  many 
other  schools,  for  the  head-mistress  had  broader  and  nobler 
views  of  life.  She  loved  all  her  girls,  and  they  all  loved 
her;  but  it  was  impossible  for  her  not  to  like  some  girls 
more  than  others,  and  of  all  the  girls  at  present  at  her 
school  Aneta  Lysle  was  the  one  she  really  loved  best.  There 
was  also,  it  is  sad  to  relate,  a  girl  there  whom  she  did  not 
love,  and  that  girl  was  Maggie  Howland.  There  was  nothing 
whatever  with  regard  to  Maggie  that  her  mistress  could  lay 
hold  of.  She  was  quite  aware  of  the  girl's  fascination,  and 
of  her  powerful  influence  over  her  school-fellows.  Never- 
theless, she  never  thought  of  her  without  a  sense  of  dis- 
comfort. 

Maggie  was  one  of  the  girls  who  were  educated  at  Aylmer 
House  for  a  very  low  fee;  for  Mrs.  Ward  was  quite  rich 
enough  and  generous  enough  to  take  girls  who  could  not 
afford  her  full  terms  for  very  much  less.  Maggie's  fees, 
therefore,  were  almost  nominal,  and  no  one  knew  this  fact 
better  than  Maggie  herself  and  her  mother,  Mrs.  Howland. 
None  of  her  school-fellpws  knew,  for  she  learned  just  what 
they  did,  and  had  precisely  the  same  advantages.  She  was 
treated  just  like  the  others.  No  one  could  guess  that  her 
circumstances  were  different.  And  certainly  Maggie  would 
never  tell,  but  none  the  less  did  she  in  her  heart  hate  her 
position. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Molly  and  Isabel  Tristram  were  also 
coming  to  the  school  on  specially  low  terms;  but  no  one 
would  know  this.  Maggie,  however,  suspected  it,  and  in- 
tended, if  necessary,  to  make  the  fact  an  added  power  over 
her  young  friends  when  they  all  assembled  at  Aylmer  House. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Ward,  half-aloud,  half  to  herself,  "  I 
don't  quite  trust  Maggie  Howland.  But  I  cannot  possibly 
dismiss  her  from  the  school.  I  may  win  her  round  to  a 
loftier  standard  of  life,  but  at  present  there  is  no  doubt  she 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  55 

has  not  that  high  ideal  in  view  which  I  think  my  other  girls 
aim  at." 

Between  three  and  four  o'clock  that  day  Mrs.  Ward  re- 
ceived a  telegram  from  Mr.  Cardew.  It  contained  the  fol- 
lowing words: 

"  After  consideration,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  do  my- 
self the  great  honor  of  confiding  my  girls  to  your  care. 
Their  mother  and  I  will  write  to  you  fully  in  a  day  or  two." 

Mrs.  Ward  smiled  when  she  received  the  telegram.  "  I 
will  do  my  best  for  those  children,"  she  said  to  herself. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  NEWS. 

MR.  CARDEW  arrived  at  Meredith  Manor  very  late  that 
evening.  The  long  and  happy  day  had  come  to  an  end.  The 
Tristram  girls  and  Maggie  Howland  had  returned  to  the 
rectory.  Cicely  and  Merry  were  having  a  long,  confidential 
chat  together.  They  were  in  Merry's  bedroom.  They  had 
dismissed  their  maid.  They  were  talking  of  the  pleasures 
of  the  day,  and  in  particular  were  discussing  the  delightful 
fact  that  their  beautiful  cousin  Aneta  had  wired  to  say  she 
would  be  with  them  in  two  days'  time. 

They  had  not  seen  Aneta  for  some  years,  but  they  both 
remembered  her  vividly.  Her  memory  shone  out  before 
them  both  as  something  specially  dazzling  and  specially 
beautiful.  Maggie  Howland,  too,  had  spoken  of  Aneta's 
beauty.  Maggie  had  been  told  that  Aneta  was  coming,  and 
Maggie  had  expressed  pleasure.  Whatever  Maggie's  pri- 
vate feelings  may  have  been,  she  was  very  careful  now  to 
express  delight  at  Aneta's  appearance  at  Meredith  Manor. 

"What  a  darling  she  is!"  said  Merry.  "I  doubt  very 
much — I  suppose  it's  rank  heresy  to  say  so,  Cicely,  but  I 
really  greatly  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  prefer  Aneta  to 
Maggie.  What  are  mere  looks,  after  all,  when  one  possesses 
such  charm  as  Maggie  has?  That  seems  to  me  a  much 
greater  gift." 

"We  need  not  compare  them,  need  we?"  said  Cicely. 

"Oh,  certainly  not,"  said  Merry;  "but,  Cicely  darling, 
doesn't  it  seem  funny  that  such  a  lot  of  girls  who  are  all 
to  meet  in  September  at  Aylmer  House  should  be  practically 
staying  with  us  at  the  present  moment?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Cicely.  "I  feel  almost  as  though  I 
belonged  to  it,  which  of  course  is  quite  ridiculous,  for  we 
shall  never  by  any  chance  go  there." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Merry,  and  she  sighed. 

After  a  time  Cicely  said,  "  I  wonder  what  father  went  to 
town  for  to-day." 

"Well,  we  don't  know,  so  where's  the  use  of  troubling?" 
said  Merry. 

"  I  asked  mother,"  said  Cicely,  "  why  he  went  to  town,  and 


56  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

she  said  she  couldn't  tell  me;  but  she  got  rather  red  as  she 
spoke." 

"  Cicely,"  said  Merry  after  a  long  pause,  "  when  these  glo- 
rious holidays  come  to  an  end,  and  the  Aylmer  House  girls 
have  gone  to  Aylmer  House,  what  shall  you  and  I  do?  " 

"Do,"  said  Cicely — "do?  I  suppose  what  we've  always 
done.  A  fresh  governess  will  be  found,  and  another  music- 
master,  and  we'll  work  at  our  lessons  and  do  the  best  we 
can." 

Merry  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

"We'll  never  talk  French  like  Belle  Tristram,"  she  said, 
44  and  we'll  never  play  so  that  any  one  will  care  to  listen  to 
us.  We'll  never,  never  know  the  world  the  way  the  others 
know  it.  There  seems  very  little  use  in  being  rich  when 
one  can't  get  education." 

It  was  just  at  that  moment  that  there  came  a  light  tap 
at  the  girls'  door.  Before  they  could  reply,  it  was  opened 
and  Mrs.  Cardew  came  in.  She  looked  as  though  she  had 
been  crying;  nevertheless,  there  was  a  joyful  sort  of  triumph 
on  her  face.  She  said  quickly,  "  I  thought,  somehow,  you 
two  naughty  children  would  not  be  in  bed,  and  I  told  father 
that  I'd  come  up  on  the  chance  of  finding  you.  Father  has 
come  back  from  London,  and  has  something  important  to 
tell  you.  Will  you  come  down  with  me  at  once?  " 

"Oh  mother!  mother!  what  is  it?"  said  Merry  in  a  tone 
of  excitement  which  was  slightly  mingled  with  awe. 

44  Your  father  will  tell  you,  my  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew. 

She  put  her  arm  round  Merry's  slight  waist  and  held 
Cicely's  hand,  and  they  came  down  to  the  great  drawing- 
room  where  Mr.  Cardew  was  waiting  for  them. 

He  was  pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  room,  his  hands 
folded  behind  his  back.  His  face  was  slightly  tired,  and  yet 
he  too  wore  that  odd  expression  of  mingled  triumph  and 
pain  which  Mrs.  Cardew's  eyes  expressed. 

When  the  mother  and  the  girls  entered  the  room  he  at 
once  shut  the  door.  Mr.  Cardew  looked  first  of  all  at  Merry. 
He  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  "  Come  to  me,  little  girl,"  he  said. 

She  flew  to  him  and  put  her  arms  round  his  neck.  She 
kissed  him  several  times.  "Oh  dad!  dad!"  she  said,  "I 
know  I  was  downright  horrid  and  unkind  and  perfectly 
dreadful  yesterday,  and  I  don't — no,  I  don't— want  to  leave 
you  and  mother.  If  I  was  discontented  then,  I  am  not  now." 

Merry  believed  her  own  words  at  that  moment,  for  the 
look  on  her  father's  face  had  struck  to  her  very  heart. 

He  disengaged  her  pretty  arms  very  gently,  and,  still 
holding  her  hand,  went  up  to  Cicely,  who-  was  clinging  to 
her  mother.  "  I  have  just  got  some  news  for  you  both,"  he 
said.  "You  know,  of  course,  that  Miss  Beverley  cannot 
teach  you  any  longer?" 

"Poor  old  Beverley,"  said  Cicely;  "we  are  so  sorry.  But 
you'll  find  another  good  governess  for  us,  won't  you,  dad?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't,"  said  Mr.  Cardew.    "  So  I  sent  for  you 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  57 

to-night  to  tell  you  that  I  have  broken  the  resolve  which  I 
always  meant  to  keep." 

"You  have  what?"  said  Merry. 

"  I  have  turned  my  back  on  a  determination  which  I 
made  when  you  were  both  very  little  girls,  and  to-day  I 
went  up  to  town  and  saw  Mrs.  Ward." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Merry.  She  turned  white  and  dropped  her 
father's  hand,  and,  clasping  her  own  two  hands  tightly  to- 
gether, gazed  at  him  as  though  she  would  devour  his  face. 

"  Well,  it's  all  settled,  children,"  said  Mr.  Cardew,  "  and 
when  September  comes  you  will  go  with  your  friends  Molly 
and  Belle  to  Aylmer  House." 

This  announcement  was  received  at  first  in  total  silence. 
Then  Merry  flew  to  her  father  and  kissed  him  a  great  many 
times,  and  Cicely  kissed  her  mother. 

Then  Merry  said,  "We  can't  talk  of  it  to-night;  we  can't 
quite  realize  it  to-night;  but — but — we  are  gladl  " 

Then  she  took  Cicely's  hand,  and  they  went  out  of  the 
room.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gardew  watched  them  as  the  little  fig- 
ures approached  the  door.  Merry  opened  it,  and  they  both 
passed  out. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Cardew,  looking  at  his  wife,  "  if  they 
are  going  out  of  our  lives." 

"  Indeed,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew;  "  from  what  you  have 
told  me  of  Mrs.  Ward,  she  must  be  a  good  woman — one  of 
the  best." 

"She  is  one  of  the  very,  very  best,  Sylvia;  and  I  think 
the  very  happiest  thing  for  us  both  would  be  to  run  up  to 
town  to-morrow,  and  for  you  to  see  her  for  yourself." 

"Very  well,  darling;  we  will  do  so,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew. 


CHAPTER   X. 

AN  ETA. 

So  everything  was  settled.  Cicely  and  Merry  scarcely 
slept  at  all  that  night.  They  were  too  much  excited;  the 
news  was  too  wonderful.  Now  that  their  wish  was  granted, 
there  was  pain  mingled  with  their  joy.  It  seems  as  though 
perfect  joy  must  have  its  modicum  of  pain  to  make  it  perfect. 

But  when  the  next  morning  dawned  the  regret  of  the  night 
before  seemed  to  have  vanished.  In  the  first  place,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Cardew  had  gone  early  to  London;  and  the  mere  fact 
that  their  father  and  mother  were  not  present  was  a  sort 
of  relief  to  the  excited  girls.  The  picnic  need  not  be  post- 
poned, for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tristram  could  act  as  chaperons  on 
this  auspicious  occasion. 

They  were  all  to  meet  at  the  Manor  at  eleven  o'clock;  and, 
punctual  to  the  hour,  a  goodly  array  of  happy  young  peo- 

Ele  walked  up  the  avenue  and  entered  the  porch  of  the  old 
ouse.     Andrew,    devoted   to   Maggie,   was   present.     Jack, 
equally  Maggie's  slave,  was  also  there.    Maggie  herself,  look- 
4£ 


58  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

ing  neat  and  happy,  was  helping  every  one.  Molly  and  Belle, 
all  in  white,  and  looking  as  charming  as  little  girls  could, 
were  full  of  expectation  of  their  long  and  delightful  day. 

One  wagonette  could  hold  the  whole  party,  and  as  it  drove 
round  to  the  front  door  the  boys  fiercely  took  possession  of 
the  box-seat,  fighting  with  the  coachman,  who  said  that 
there  would  be  no  room  for  Miss  Howland  to  sit  between 
them. 

"  Well  then,  Mags,  if  that  is  the  case,"  said  Peterkins,  "  you 
get  along  in  at  once,  and  take  this  corner  close  to  me;  then, 
whenever  we  want,  we  can  do  a  bit  of  whispering." 

"  You  won't  whisper  more  than  your  share,"  said  Jackdaw. 
"  I've  a  frightful  lot  to  say  to  Mags  this  morning." 

"Hush,  boys!"  said  Maggie;  "if  you  quarrel  about  me  I 
shall  not  speak  to  either  of  you." 

This  threat  was  so  awful  that  the  boys  glanced  at  each 
other,  remained  silent  and  got  quietly  into  their  places. 
Then  the  hampers  were  put  on  the  floor  just  under  their 
feet. 

Presently  Cicely  and  Merry  came  out  to  join  the  group. 
They  were  wearing  pretty  pink  muslins,  with  pink  sashes 
to  match.  Merry's  beautiful  dark  eyes  were  very  bright. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tristram  inquired  for  their  host  and  hostess. 

"Oh,  I  have  news  for  you!"  said  Merry. 

"  Yes,"  said  Cicely,  "  Merry  will  tell." 

"Well,  it's  just  this,"  said  Merry,  almost  jerking  out  her 
words  in  excitement:  "  Father  and  mother  have  been  obliged 
to  go  rather  unexpectedly  to  town." 

"Why?"  said  Maggie;  then  she  restrained  herself,  know- 
ing that  it  was  not  her  place  to  speak. 

"They  have  gone  to  town,"  said  Merry,  scarcely  looking 
at  Maggie  now,  and  endeavoring  with  all  her  might  and 
main  not  to  show  undue  excitement,  "  because  a  great  and 
wonderful  thing  has  happened;  something  so  unexpected 
that — that  Cicely  and  I  can  scarcely  believe  it." 

Maggie  glanced  at  the  sweet  little  faces.  She  said  to  her- 
self, "  All  right,"  and  got  calmly  into  the  wagonette,  where 
she  sat  close  under  the  box-seat  which  contained  those  ob- 
streperous young  heroes  Andrew  and  Jack.  The  others 
clustered  round  Merry. 

"As  I  said,  I  can  scarcely  believe  it,"  said  Merry;  "but 
father  has  done  the  most  marvelous  thing.  Oh  Belle!  oh  Molly! 
it  is  too  wonderful  I  For  after  all — after  all,  Cicely  and  I  are 
to  go  with  you  to  Aylmer  House  in  September,  and — and — 
that  is  why  father  and  mother  have  gone  to  town.  Father 
went  up  yesterday  and  saw  Mrs.  Ward,  and  he — he  settled  it; 
and  father  and  mother  have  gone  up  to-day — both  of  them — 
to  see  her,  and  to  make  final  arrangements.  And  we're  to  go! 
we're  to  go! " 

"  Hurrah ! "  cried  Molly.  Immediately  the  boys,  and  Mag- 
gie and  Belle,  and  even  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tristram,  took  up  the 
glad  "Hurrah!" 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  59 

"  Well,  children,''  said  Mr.  Tristram  when  the  first  ex- 
citement had  subsided,  "  I  must  say  I  am  heartily  pleased. 
This  is  delightful!  I  take  some  credit  to  myself  for  having 
helped  on  this  most  excellent  arrangement." 

"No  one  thanks  me  for  anything,"  thought  Maggie;  but 
she  had  the  prudence  to  remain  silent. 

"  We  had  better  start  on  our  picnic  now,"  said  Mr.  Tris- 
tram, and  immediately  the  whole  party  climbed  into  the 
wagonette.  The  horses  started;  the  wheels  rolled.  They 
were  off. 

By-and-by  Merry  felt  her  hand  taken  by  Maggie.  Maggie 
just  squeezed  that  hand,  and  whispered  in  that  very,  very 
rich  and  wonderfully  seductive  voice  of  hers,  "  Oh,  I  am  glad! 
I  am  very,  very  glad!  " 

Merry  felt  her  heart  thrill  as  Maggie  uttered  those  words. 
She  answered  back,  turning  her  face  to  her  young  com- 
panion, "  To  be  with  you  alone  would  be  happiness  enough 
for  me." 

"  Is  it  true,  Cicely,"  said  Mrs.  Tristram  at  the  moment, 
"  that  your  cousin,  Aneta  Lysle,  is  coming  to  stay  with  you?  " 

"Oh  yes;  but  I  had  half-forgotten  it  in  all  this  excite- 
ment," said  Cicely.  "  She  will  arrive  to-morrow. — Maggie, 
you'll  be  glad,  won't  you?" 

"  More  than  delighted,"  said  Maggie. 

"  It  is  too  wonderful,"  said  Cicely.  "  Why,  it  will  soon 
come  to  pass  that  half  Mrs.  Ward's  school  will  be  all  to- 
gether during  the  holidays.  Fancy,  we  two,  and  you  two  " 
— she  touched  one  of  the  Tristram  girls — "  and  you,  Maggie, 
and  then  dear  Aneta;  why,  that'll  make  six.  What  a  lot  we 
shall  have  to  talk  about!  Maggie,  you  and  Aneta  will  be  our 
two  heroines;  we  shall  always  be  applying  to  you  for  infor- 
mation." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  Jackdaw,  who 

g inched  Maggie  on  the  arm.  "  You're  not  attending  to  us," 
e  said. 

"  Nonsense,  Jackdaw! " 

"Well,  stand  up  for  a  minute;  I  want  to  whisper  to 
you." 

Maggie,  who  never  lost  a  chance  of  ingratiating  herself 
with  any  one,  obeyed. 

"  Jack  dear,  don't  be  troublesome,"  said  his  mother. 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Jackdaw.  "  She  loves  it,  the  duck  that 
she  is! " 

"  Be  quick,  Jackdaw;  it's  very  difficult  for  me  to  keep  my 
hold  standing  up,"  said  Maggie. 

"How  many  chocolates  can  you  eat  at  a  pinch?"  whis- 
pered Jackdaw  in  her  ear. 

"Oh,  forty,"  replied  Maggie;  "but  I  should  be  rather  ill 
afterwards." 

"  We've  got  some  in  our  pockets.  They're  a  little  bit 
clammy,  but  you  don't  mind  that?" 

"  I  don't  want  any  just  now,  dear  boy;  and-  I'll  tell  you 


60  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

why.  I  want  to  be  really  starving  hungry  when  the  picnic 
begins." 

"That's  a  good  notion,  isn't  ft?"  said  Jackdaw. — "I  say, 
Andrew,  she  wants  to  be  starving  hungry  when  the  picnic 
begins!" 

Maggie  resumed  her  seat,  and  the  boys  went  on  whisper- 
ing together,  and  kicking  each  other  at  intervals,  and  rather 
upsetting  that  very  stolid  personage,  Mr.  Charles,  the  Mere- 
dith Manor  coachman. 

The  picnic  was  a  perfect  success.  When  people  are  very 
happy  there  is  no  room  for  discontent  in  their  hearts,  and 
all  the  members  of  that  party  were  in  the  highest  spirits. 
The  Cardew  girls  had  no  time  yet  for  that  period  of  regret 
which  must  invariably  follow  a  period  of  intense  excitement. 
They  had  no  time  yet  to  realize  that  they  must  part  with 
their  father  and  mother  for  the  greater  portion  of  the  year. 

To  children  so  intensely  affectionate  as  Cicely  and  Merry 
such  a  parting  must  mean  considerable  pain.  But  even  the 
beginning  of  the  pain  did  not  come  to  them  on  that  aus- 
picious day,  and  they  returned  to  the  house  after  the  picnic 
in  the  highest  good-humor. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tristram,  however,  were  wise  in  their  gener- 
ation; and  although  €icely  and  Merry  begged  and  implored 
the  whole  party  to  come  to  the  Manor  for  supper,  they  very 
firmly  declined.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  both  Jack  and 
Andrew  turned  sulky  on  this  occasion. 

As  the  rectory  girls  and  Maggie  and  the  boys  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Tristam  were  all  going  homewards  the  two  girls  and 
Maggie  fell  behind. 

"Isn't  this  real  fun?  Isn't  it  magnificent?"  said  Molly 
Tristram. 

"  It's  a  very  good  thing  indeed  for  your  friends  Cicely  and 
Merry,"  said  Maggie.  Then  she  added,  "  Didn't  I  tell  you, 
girls,  that  you  would  win  your  bracelets?" 

Belle  felt  herself  changing  color. 

"  We  don't  want  them  a  bit — we  really  don't,  said  Molly. 

"  Of  course  we  don't  want  them,"  said  Isabel. 

"  You'll  have  them  all  the  same,"  said  Maggie.  "  They  are 
my  present  to  you.  Surely  you  won't  refuse  my  present?  " 

"  But  such  a  very  rich  and  handsome  present  we  ought 
not  to  accept,"  said  Molly. 

"Nonsense,  girls!  I  shall  be  unhappy  unless  you  wear 
them.  When  I  return  to  mother — which,  alas!  I  must  do 
before  many  days  are  over — I  shall  send  you  the  brace- 
lets." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't,  Maggie,"  said  Belle  Tristram;  "for 
I  am  certain  father  and  mother  would  not  like  us  to  wear 
jewelry  while  we  are  so  young." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Maggie,  "  I  will  give  them  to  you  when 
we  all  meet  at  Aylmer  House.  You  must  take  thorn;  you 
know  you  promised  you  would.  You  will  hurt  me  most 
frightfully  if  you  don't." 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  61 

As  Molly  and  Isabel  certainly  did  not  wish  to  hurt  Mag- 
gie, they  remained  silent,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  walk 
the  three  girls  scarcely  spoke.  Meanwhile  Cicely  and  Merry 
entered  the  Manor  House  and  waited  impatiently  for  the 
return  of  their  father  and  mother. 

"  We  must  get  everything  extra  nice  for  them,"  said 
Cicely  to  her  sister.  "  I  do  think  it  is  so  wonderfully  splen- 
did of  them  to  send  us  to  school." 

The  sun  had  already  set,  and  twilight  had  come  on;  but 
it  would  be  quite  impossible  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cardew  to 
arrive  at  the  Manor  until  about  ten  o'clock.  What,  there- 
fore, was  the  amazement  of  the  girls  when  they  heard  car- 
riage-wheels in  the  distance! 

"  Father  and  mother  could  not  possibly  have  done  their 
business  and  caught  the  early  train,"  said  Merry  in  some 
excitement.  "  Who  can  be  coming  now?  " 

The  next  moment  their  doubts  were  set  at  rest,  for  Aneta 
Lysle  entered  the  hall. 

"  I  came  to-day  after  all,"  she  said.  "  Auntie  thought  it 
would  be  more  convenient.  You  got  my  telegram,  didn't 
you?  " 

These  words  were  uttered  while  her  two  cousins,  in  rap- 
ture and  delight,  were  kissing  her. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Merry,  "  we  got  no  telegram;  but,  oh,  Aneta! 
we  are  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Here's  the  telegram  on  the  hall-table,"  said  Aneta,  and 
she  took  up  a  yellow  envelope.  This  was  addressed  to  "  Car- 
dew,  Meredith  Manor."  "  Yes,  I  know  this  must  be  from 
me,"  said  Aneta.  "  But  why  didn't  you  open  it?  " 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,"  said  Cicely,  "  father  and  mother  were 
in  London,  and  the  rest  of  us  were  out  on  a  picnic.  But  it 
doesn't  matter  a  bit;  you've  come,  and  the  sooner  the  better. 
Oh,  it  is  nice  to  see  you  again!  But  how  tall  you  are,  Neta, 
and  how  grown  up  you  look! " 

"  I  am  seventeen,  remember,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  don't  feel 
grown-up,  but  auntie  says  I  look  it." 

"  Oh,  come  into  the  light — do,"  said  Merry,  "  and  let's  see 
you!  We've  heard  so  very  much  of  you  lately,  and  we  want 
to  look  at  your  darling  face  again." 

"  And  I  want  to  look  at  you  both,"  said  Aneta  in  her  af- 
fectionate manner. 

The  servants  had  conveyed  Miss  Lysle's  luggage  into  the 
house,  and  now  the  three  girls,  with  their  arms  twined 
round  each  other,  entered  the  same  big  drawing-room  where 
Mr.  Cardew  had  given  his  wonderful  news  of  the  night  be- 
fore. There  was  a  blaze  of  electric  light,  and  this,  judi- 
ciously softened  with  rose-colored  silk,  was  most  becoming 
to  all  those  who  came  under  its  influence.  But  the  strongest 
glare  of  light  could  not  disfigure  any  one  so  absolutely  beau- 
tiful as  Aneta  Lysle.  Her  delicate  complexion,  the  wonderful 
purity  and  regularity  of  her  features,  her  sweet,  tender 
young  mouth,  her  charming  blue  eyes,  and  her  great  luxuri- 


62  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

ance  of  golden  hair  made  people  who  looked  at  her  once 
long  to  study  that  charming  face  again  and  yet  again. 

There  was  no  vanity  about  this  young  girl;  her  manner, 
her  expression,  were  simplicity  itself.  There  was  a  certain 
nobility  about  her  fine  forehead,  and  the  shape  of  her  head 
was  classical,  and  showed  undoubted  talent.  Her  clear, 
musical  voice  was  in  itself  a  charm.  Her  young  figure  was 
the  very  personification  of  grace.  Beside  her,  Cicely  and 
Merry  felt  awkward  and  commonplace;  not  that  they  were 
so,  but  very  few  people  could  attain  to  Aneta  Lysle's  in- 
comparable beauty. 

"Well,  girls,"  she  said,  "you  do  look  sweet,  both  of  you  I" 

"  Oh  Neta,  what  a  darling  you  are! "  said  Merry,  who  wor- 
shipped beauty,  and  had  never  come  across  any  one  so  lovely 
as  her  cousin.  "  It's  two  years  since  we  met,"  she  continued, 
"  and  you  have  altered,  and  not  altered.  You're  more  grown- 
up and  more — more  stately,  but  your  face  is  the  same.  When- 
ever we  want  to  think  of  the  angels  we  think  of  you  too, 
Neta." 

"That  is  very  sweet  of  you,  darlings;  but,  indeed,  I  am 
far  from  being  an  arigel.  I  am  just  a  very  human  girl;  and, 
please,  if  you  don't  mind,  we  won't  discuss  my  looks  any 
more." 

Cicely  and  Merry  both  gave  their  cousin  a  thoughtful 
glance.  Then  they  said  eagerly,  "  You  must  come  to  your 
room  and  wash  your  hands,  and  get  refreshed  for  supper, 
for  of  course  you  are  starving." 

"  I  shall  like  to  have  something  to  eat,"  said  Aneta.  "  What 
room  am  I  to  have,  girls?  " 

"  Oh,  the  white  room,  next  to  ours;  we  arranged  it  all  this 
morning,"  said  Cicely. 

"  Well,  come  along  at  once,"  said  Aneta. 

Soon  the  three  girls  found  themselves  in  the  beautiful 
bedroom  which  had  been  arranged  for  Aneta's  reception. 
As  soon  as  ever  they  got  there  Cicely  clasped  one  of  her 
cousin's  arms  and  Merry  the  other. 

"  We  have  news  for  you — news ! "  they  said. 

"Yes?"  said  Aneta,  looking  at  them  with  her  bright,  soft 
eyes. 

"  Most  wonderful — most  extraordinary — most— most  beau- 
tiful!" said  Merry,  speaking  almost  with  passion.  "We're 
going  to  your  school;  yes,  to  yours — to  Aylmer  House,  in 
September.  Could  you  have  believed  it?  Think  of  father 
consenting,  and  just  because  I  felt  a  little  discontented.  Oh, 
isn't  he  an  angel?  Father,  of  all  people,  who  until  now 
would  not  hear  of  our  leaving  home!  But  we're  going." 

"  Well,"  said  Aneta,  "  I  am  not  greatly  surprised,  for  I 
happen  to  know  that  your  father,  Cousin  Cyril,  came  to  see 
auntie  yesterday,  and  afterwards  he  went  to  visit  Mrs.  Ward, 
and  after  his  visit  we  saw  Mrs.  Ward*  and,  although  he  had 
not  quite  made  up  his  mind  then  whether  he  would  send 
you  or  not,  we  quite  thought  he  would  do  so.  Yes,  this  is 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  63 

splendid.  I'll  be  able  to  tell  you  lots  about  the  school;  but, 
after  all,  it  isn't  the  school  that  matters." 

"Then  what  matters,  Aneta?" 

"  It's  Mrs.  Ward  herself,"  said  Aneta;  "  it's  she  who  makes 
the  whole  thing  so  perfect.  She  guides  us;  she  enlightens 
us.  Sometimes  I  can  scarcely  talk  of  her,  my  love  for  her 
and  my  passion  for  her  are  so  deep." 

Cicely  and  Merry  looked  thoughtful  for  a  minute. 

"  I'm  ready  now  to  come  downstairs,"  said  Aneta;  and  they 
went  down,  to  find  supper  prepared  for  them,  and  the  old 
butler  waiting  to  attend  on  his  young  ladies. 

After  the  meal  was  over  the  girls  retired  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  they  all  three  sat  by  one  of  the  windows  wait- 
ing for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cardew's  return. 

Merry  then  said,  "  It  is  so  funny  of  you,  Aneta,  to  speak 
as  though  the  school  was  Mrs.  Ward." 

"  But  it  is,"  said  Aneta. 

"  Surely,  surely,"  said  Merry,  "  it's  the  girls  too." 

"  You  will  be  surprised,  perhaps,  Aneta,  to  hear,"  said 
Cicely,  "that  our  dear,  darling  friends — our  greatest  girl- 
friends, except  yourself  perhaps,  and  you're  a  sort  of  sister 
— Molly  and  Isabel  Tristram  are  also  going  to  Aylmer  House 
in  September.  They  are  so  nice — you  will  like  them;  and 
then,  of  course,  there's  Maggie  Howland,  one  of  the  most 
charming  girls  we  have  come  across." 

"Whom  did  you  say?"  asked  Aneta. 

"  Maggie  Howland.    She  is  here." 

"  In  this  house?  "  said  Aneta. 

"  No;  she  is  at  the  rectory.  She  is  a  special  friend  of 
Molly  and  Isabel.  She  has  been  at  school  with  them  before 
in  Hanover.  You  know  her,  of  course?  She  is  one  of  the 
girls  at  Aylmer  House." 

"  I  know  her — oh  yes,  I  know  her,"  said  Aneta. 

"  And  you  like  her,  you  feel  her  charm,  you — you  almost 
worship  her,  don't  you,  Neta?" 

Aneta  was  silent. 

"Oh,  I  know  she  is  considered  plain,"  said  Merry,  "but 
there's  something  about  her  which  prevents  one  even  con- 
sidering her  features.  She  is  the  most  unselfish,  most  fas- 
cinating girl  we  have  ever  come  across.  You  love  her,  don't 
you,  Neta?" 

There  had  come  a  curious  change  over  Aneta's  face.  After 
a  brief  pause  she  said,  "  I  have  no  right  to  say  it,  but  you 
two  are  my  cousins  " 

"Yes,  yes!  What  does  this  mean?"  said  Cicely  with  great 
eagerness. 

"Well,  I  know  you  will  be  faithful  and  not  repeat  it  to 
any  one;  but  I  don't  love  Maggie  Howland." 

"Oh,  Neta!" 

"  And,"  continued  Aneta,  "  you.  as  my  cousins,  I  most  earn- 
estly hope,  will  not  make  her  your  special  friend  at  Aylmer 
House." 


64  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"But  we  have  done  so  already,  Neta.  Oh,  Neta  darling! 
you  are  mistaken  in  her." 

"  I  say  nothing  whatever  against  her,"  said  Aneta,  "  ex- 
cept that  personally  I  do  not  care  for  her.  I  should  be  very 
glad  if  I  found  that  I  had  misjudged  her." 

"Then  why  don't  you  want  us  to  be  friends  with  her? 
We  are  friends  with  her." 

"  I  cannot  control  you,  darlings.  When  you  come  to  school 
you  will  see  a  variety  of  girls,  and  most  of  them — indeed,  all 
of  them — nice,  I  think." 

"  Then  why  shouldn't  we  like  poor  Maggie?  " 

"  You  do  like  her,  it  seems,  already." 

"  Yes;  but  you  are  so  mysterious,  Neta." 

"I  cannot  say  any  more;  you  must  forgive  me,"  answered 
Aneta.  "  And  I  hear  the  sound  of  wheels.  Your  father  and 
mother  are  coming." 

"  Yes,  yes,  the  darlings ! "  said  Merry,  rushing  into  the 
hall  to  meet  her  parents. 

Aneta  and  Cicely  followed  her  example,  and  there  was 
great  excitement  and  much  talk.  Mrs.  Cardew  was  now  as 
anxious  that  the  girls  should  go  to  Aylmer  House  as  though 
she  herself  had  always  wished  for  such  an  arrangement, 
while  Mr.  Cardew  could  not  say  enough  in  Mrs.  Ward's 
praise. 

"  You  agree  with  me,  Aneta,"  said  Mrs.  Cardew,  "  that  the 
school  is  quite  unique  and  above  the  ordinary." 

"  Mrs.  Ward  is  unique  and  above  the  ordinary,"  was 
Aneta's  reply. 

When  the  girls  retired  to  their  own  rooms  that  night, 
Cicely  and  Merry  met  for  a  brief  moment. 

4  How  funny  of  Aneta  not  to  like  Maggie!"  said  Merry. 

"  Well,  if  I  were  you,  Merry,"  said  Cicely,  "  I  wouldn't 
talk  about  it.  I  suppose  Aneta  is  prejudiced." 

"Yes,"  said  Merry;  "but  against  Maggie,  of  all  people! 
Well,  I.  for  my  part,  will  never  give  her  up." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Cicely,  who  was  more  conscientious  than 
her  sister,  "  that  we  ought  to  think  something  of  Aneta's 
opinion." 

"Oh,  that's  very  fine,"  said  Merry;  "but  -we  ought  to 
think  something,  too,  of  Molly's  opinion,  and  Belle's  opinion. 
They  have  known  Maggie  longer  than  Aneta  has." 

"Yes,"  replied  Cicely;  "I  forgot  that.  But  isn't  Aneta 
herself  delightful?  It's  a  pure  joy  to  look  at  her." 

14  It  certainly  is,"  said  Merry;  "  and  of  course  I  love  her 
dearly  and  am  very  proud  of  her;  but  I  confess  I  did  not 
quite  like  her  when  she  spoke  in  that  queer  way  about  dear 
little  Maggie.  I,  at  least,  am  absolutely  determined  that 
nothing  will  induce  me  to  give  Maggie  up." 

"  Of  course  we  won't  give  her  up,"  said  Cicely.  But  she 
spoke  with  thought. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  65 

CHAPTER    XI. 

TEN   POUNDS. 

IN  perfect  summer  weather,  when  the  heart  is  brimful 
of  happiness,  and  when  a  great  desire  has  been  unexpectedly 
fulfilled,  what  can  there  possibly  be  more  delightful  than  an 
open-air  life?  This  was  what  the  girls  who  belonged  to 
the  rectory  and  the  girls  who  belonged  to  the  Manor  now 
found.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cardew  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tristram 
could  not  do  enough  for  their  benefit.  Maggie  could  only 
stay  for  one  week  longer  with  her  friends;  but  Aneta  had 
changed  her  mind  with  regard  to  Belgium,  and  was  to  go 
with  the  young  Cardews  to  the  seaside,  and  Mrs.  Cardew  had 
asked  the  Tristram  girls  to  accompany  them.  She  had  also 
extended  her  invitation  to  Maggie,  who  would  have  given  a 
great  deal  to  accept  it.  She  wrote  to  her  mother  on  the 
subject.  Mrs.  Howland  made  a  brief  reply:  "You  know  it 
is  impossible,  Maggie.  You  must  come  back  to  me  early 
next  week.  I  cannot  do  without  you,  so  say  no  more  about  it." 

Maggie  was  a  girl  with  a  really  excellent  temper,  and, 
recognizing  that  her  mother  had  a  good  reason  for  not  giving 
her  the  desired  holiday,  made  the  best  of  things. 

Meanwhile  Cicely  and  Merry  watched  her  carefully.  As 
to  Aneta,  she  was  perfectly  cordial  with  Maggie,  not  talking 
to  her  much,  it  is  true,  but  never  showing  the  slightest 
objection  to  her  society.  Nevertheless,  there  was,  since  the 
arrival  of  Aneta  on  the  scene,  a  strange,  undefinable  change 
in  the  atmosphere.  Merry  noticed  this  more  than  Cicely. 
It  felt  to  her  electrical,  as  though  there  might  be  a  storm 
brewing. 

On  the  day  before  Maggie  was  to  return  to  London  to  take 
up  her  abode  in  her  mother's  dull  house  in  Shepherd's  Bush, 
a  magnificent  picnic  on  a  larger  scale  even  than  usual  was 
the  order  of  the  hour.  Some  young  girls  of  the  name  of 
Heathfield  who  lived  a  little  way  off  were  asked  to  Meredith 
Manor  to  spend  the  night,  and  these  girls,  who  were  exceed- 
ingly jolly  and  bright  and  lively,  were  a  fresh  source  of 
delight  to  all  those  whom  they  happened  to  meet.  Their 
names  were  Susan  and  Mary  Heathfield.  They  were  older 
than  the  Tristrams  and  the  Cardews,  and  had,  in  fact,  just 
left  school.  Their  last  year  of  school-life  had  been  spent 
in  Paris;  they  were  highly  educated,  and  had  an  enviable 
proficiency  in  the  French  tongue. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Heathfield,  the  parents  of  these  girls,  were 
also  guests  at  the  Manor,  so  that  the  picnic  on  this  last  day 
of  Maggie's  visit  to  the  rectory  was  quite  a  large  one.  They 
drove  nearly  twenty  miles  to  a  beautiful  place  not  far  from 
Warwick.  There  the  usual  picnic  arrangements  were  made 
with  great  satisfaction;  dinner  was  eaten  out-of-doors,  and 
presently  there  was  to  be  a  gipsy-tea.  This  all  the  girls 


66  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

looked  forward  to,  and  Andrew  and  Jack  were  wild  with 
delight  over  the  prospect  of  making  the  kettle  boil.  This 
particular  task  was  given  to  them,  and  very  proud  they  were 
of  the  trust  reposed  in  them. 

But  now,  dinner  being  over,  the  older  people  took  shelter 
from  the  fierce  rays  of  the  sun  under  the  wide-spreading 
trees,  and  the  young  people  moved  about  in  groups  or  in 
couples.  Merry  Gardew  found  herself  alone  with  Maggie 
H9wland.  Without  intending  to  do  so,  she  had  slightly,  very 
slightly,  avoided  Maggie  during  the  last  day  or  two;  but 
Maggie  now  seized  her  arm  and  drew  her  down  a  shady 
glade. 

"  Gome  with  me,  Merry,"  she  said;  "  I  have  a  lot  I  want  to 
say  to  you." 

Merry  looked  at  her.  "  Of  course  I  will  come  with  you, 
Maggie,"  she  answered. 

"  I  want  just  to  get  quite  away  from  the  others,"  con- 
tinued Maggie,  "  for  we  shall  not  meet  again  until  we  meet 
in  the  autumn  at  Aylmer  House.  You  don't  know,  perhaps 
— do  you,  Merry — that  you  owe  the  great  joy  of  coming  to 
that  lovely  school  to  me?" 

"To  you!"  said  Merry  in  the  utmost  amazement. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Maggie  in  her  calmest  tone,  "  to  me." 

"Oh,  dear  Maggie!"  replied  Merry,  "you  surely  must  be 
mistaken." 

"I  don't  intend  to  explain  myself,"  said  Maggie;  "I  simply 
state  what  is  a  fact.  You  owe  your  school-life  to  me.  It 
was  I  who  inserted  the  thin  end  of  the  wedge  beneath  your 
father's  fixed  resolution  that  you  were  to  be  educated  at 
home.  It  was  I,  in  short,  who  acted  the  part  of  the  fairy 
princess  and  who  pulled  those  silken  reins  which  brought 
about  the  desire  of  your  heart." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Maggie,"  said  Merry  in  a  dis- 
tressful tone;  "but  I  suppose,"  she  added,  "as  you  say  so,  it 
is  the  case.  Only,  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  what  really  and 
truly  happened  was  this" 

"  Oh,  I  know  quite  well  what  really  and  truly  happened," 
interrupted  Maggie.  "  Let  me  tell  you.  I  know  that  there 
came  a  certain  day  when  a  little  girl  who  calls  herself 
Merry  Cardew  was  very  discontented,  and  I  know  also  that 
kind  Mr.  Cardew  discovered  the  discontent  of  his  child. 
Well,  now,  who  put  that  discontent  into  your  mind?  " 

"  Why,  I  am  afraid  it  was  you,"  said  Merry,  turning  pale 
and  then  red. 

Maggie  laughed.  "Why,  of  course  it  was,"  she  said;  "  and 
you  suppose  I  didn't  do  it  on  purpose?" 

"  But,  Maggie,  you  didn't  really  mean — you  couldn't  for  a 
minute  mean — that  I  was  to  be  miserable  at  home  if  father 
didn't  give  his  consent?  " 

"Of  course  not."  said  Maggie  lightly;  "but,  you  see,  I 
meant  him  to  give  his  consent — I  meant  it  all  the  time.  I 
own  that  there  were  several  favoring  circumstances;  but 


THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS.  67 

I  want  to  tell  you  now,  Merry,  in  the  strictest  confidence  of 
course,  that  from  the  moment  I  arrived  at  the  rectory  I  de- 
termined that  you  and  Cicely  were  to  come  with  Molly  and 
Isabel  to  Aylmer  House." 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you,  Maggie,"  said  Merry;  but  she 
felt  a-  certain  sense  of  distress  which  she  could  not  quite 
account  for  as  she  spoke. 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  melancholy?  "  said  Maggie,  turning 
and  fixing  her  queer,  narrow  eyes  on  the  pretty  face  of  her 
young  companion. 

"  I  am  not  really  melancholy,  only  I  would  much  rather 
you  had  told  me  openly  at  the  time  that  you  wished  me  to 
come  to  school." 

Maggie  gave  a  faint  sigh.  "  Had  I  done  so,  darling,"  she 
said,  "  you  would  never  have  come.  You  must  leave  your 
poor  friend  Maggie  to  manage  things  in  her  own  way.  But 
now  I  have  something  else  to  talk  about." 

They  had  gone  far  down  the  glade,  and  were  completely 
separated  from  their  companions. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Maggie;  "it's  too  hot  to  walk  far  even 
under  the  shade  of  the  trees." 

They  both  sat  down. 

Maggie  tossed  off  her  hat.  "  To-morrow,"  she  said,  "  you 
will  perhaps  be  having  another  picnic,  or,  at  any  rate,  the 
best  of  good  times  with  your  friends." 

"  I  hope  so,"  replied  Merry. 

"  But  I  shall  be  in  hot,  stifling  London,  in  a  little  house, 
in  poky  lodgings;  to-morrow,  at  this  hour,  I  shall  not  be 
having  what  you  call  a  good  time." 

"  But,  Maggie,  you  will  be  with  your  mother." 

"Yes,  poor  darling  mother!  of  course." 

"Don't  you  love  her  very  much?"  asked  Merry. 

Maggie  flashed  round  an  excited  glance  at  her  companion. 
"Love  her?  Yes,"  she  said,  "I  love  her." 

"  But  you  must  love  her  tremendously,"  said  Merry — "  as 
much  as  I  love  my  mother." 

"As  a  rule  all  girls  love  their  mothers,"  said  Maggie. 
"  We  are  not  talking  about  that  now,  are  we?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  to  say  to  me  in  particular,  Maggie?" 
was  Merry's  response. 

"  This.  We  shall  meet  at  school  on  the  20th  of  Septem- 
ber. There  will  be,  as  I  have  told  you  already,  twenty 
boarders  at  Aylmer  House.  You  will  arrive  at  the  school  as 
strangers;  so  will  Molly  and  Isabel  arrive  as  strangers;  but 
you  will  have  two  friends — Aneta  Lysle  and  myself.  You're 
very  much  taken  with  your  cousin  Aneta,  are  you  not?  " 

"  Taken  with  her?  "  said  Merry.  "  That  seems  to  me  a 
curious  expression.  She  is  our  cousin,  and  she  is  beauti- 
ful." 

"  Merry,  I  must  tell  you  something.  At  Aylmer  House 
there  are  two  individuals  who  lead  the  school." 

"  Oh,"  said  Merry,  "  I  thought  Mrs.  Ward  led  the  school." 


68  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"Of  course,  of  course,  Mrs.  Ward  is  just  splendid;  but, 
you  see,  you,  poor  Merry,  know  nothing  of  school-life. 
School-life  is  really  controlled — I  mean  the  inner  part  of  it 
— by  the  girls  themselves.  Now,  there  are  two  girls  at 
Aylmer  House  who  control  the  school:  one  of  them  is  your 
humble  servant,  Maggie  Howland;  the  other  is  your  cousin, 
Aneta  Lysle.  Aneta  does  not  love  me;  and,  to  be  frank  with 
you,  I  hate  her." 

Merry  found  herself  turning  very  red.  She  remembered 
Aneta's  words  on  the  night  of  her  arrival. 

"  She  has  already  told  you,"  said  Maggie,  "  that  she  doesn't 
like  me." 

Merry  remained  silent. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  speak.    I  know  quite  well,"  said  Maggie. 

Merry  felt  more  and  more  uncomfortable. 

"  The  petition  I  have  to  make  to  you  is  this,"  continued 
Maggie:  "that  at  school  you  will,  for  a  time  at  least — say 
for  the  first  month  or  so — be  neutral.  I  want  you  and  Cicely 
and  Molly  and  Isabel  to  belong  neither  to  Aneta's  party  nor 
to  mine;  and  I  want  you  to  do  this  because — because  I  have 
been  the  person  who  has  got  you  to  Aylmer  House.  Just 
remain  neutral  for  a  month.  Will  you  promise  me  that?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  you.  You  puzzle  me  very  much  in- 
deed," said  Merry. 

You  will  understand  fast  enough  when  you  get  to  Aylmer 
House.  I  wish  I  were  not  going  away;  I  wish  I  hadn't  to 
return  to  mother.  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you  all  to  Scar- 
borough; but  I  am  the  last  girl  on  earth  to  neglect  my  duties, 
and  my  duty  is  to  be  with  poor  dear  mother.  You  will  un- 
derstand that  what  I  ask  is  but  reasonable.  If  four  new  girls 
came  to  the  school,  and  altogether  went  over  to  Aneta's 
side,  where  should  I  be?  What  chance  should  I  have?  But 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  come  to  my  side;  I  only  ask  you  to 
be  neutral.  Merry,  will  you  promise?" 

"You  distress  me  more  than  I  can  say,"  replied  Merry. 
"  I  feel  so  completely  in  the  dark.  I  don't,  of  course,  want 
to  take  any  side." 

"  Ah,  then  you  will  promise?  "  said  Maggie. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  sav." 

"  Let  me  present  a  picture  to  you,"  continued  Maggie. 
"  There  are  two  girls;  they  are  not  equally  equipped  for  the 
battle  of  life.  I  say  nothing  of  injustice  in  the  matter; 
I  only  state  a  fact.  One  of  them  is  rich  and  highly  born,  and 
endowed  with  remarkable  beauty  of  face.  That  girl  is  your 
own  cousin,  Aneta  Lysle.  Then  there  is  the  other  girl,  Maggie 
Howland,  who  is  ugly." 

"Oh  no — no!"  said  Merry  affectionately. 

"  Yes,  darling,"  said  Maggie,  using  her  most  magnetic 
voice,  "really  ugly." 

"  Not  in  my  eyes,"  said  Merry. 

"  She  is  ugly,"  repeated  Maggie,  speaking  with  great  calm; 
"  and — yes — she  is  poor.  I  will  tell  you  as  a  great  secret — 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  69 

I  have  never  breathed  it  to  a  soul  yet — that  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  this  girl  to  be  an  inmate  of  Aylmer  House  if 
Mrs.  Ward,  in  the  kindness  of  her  great  heart,  had  not 
offered  her  very  special  terms.  You  will  never  breathe  that, 
Merry,  not  even  to  Cicely?" 

"Oh,  poor  Maggie!"  said  Merry,  "are  you  really — really 
as  poor  as  that?" 

"  Church  mice  aren't  poorer,"  said  Maggie.  "  But  never 
mind;  I  have  got  something  which  even  your  Aneta  hasn't 
got.  I  have  talent,  and  I  have  the  power — the  power  of 
charming.  I  want  most  earnestly  to  be  your  special  friend, 
Merry.  I  have  a  very  affectionate  heart,  and  I  love  you  and 
Cicely  and  Molly  and  Isabel  more  than  I  can  say;  but  of  all 
you  four  girls  I  love  you  the  best.  You  come  first  in  my 
heart;  and  to  see  you  at  my  school  turning  away  from  me 
and  going  altogether  to  Aneta's  side  would  give  me  agony. 
There,  I  can't  help  it.  Forgive  me.  I'll  be  all  right  in  a 
minute." 

Maggie  turned  her  face  aside.  She  had  taken  out  her 
handkerchief  and  was  pressing  it  to  her  eyes.  Real  tears  had 
filled  them,  for  her  emotions  were  genuine  enough. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  she  said  after  a  pause,  "  that  you,  who 
are  so  rich  in  this  world's  goods,  might  be  kind  and  loving 
to  a  poor  little  plain  girl  who  loves  you  but  who  has  got 
very  little?" 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  I  shall  always  love  you,  dear  Maggie," 
said  Merry. 

"  Then  you  will  do  what  I  want? " 

"  I  don't  like  to  make  promises,  and  I  am  so  much  in  the 
dark;  but  I  can  certainly  say  this — that,  whatever  happens, 
I  shall  be  your  friend  at  school.  I  shall  look  to  you  to  help 
me  in  a  hundred  ways." 

"Will  you  indeed,  darling  Merry?" 

"Of  09111  je  I  shall.  I  always  intended  to,  and  I  think 
Cicely  will  do  just  the  same." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  talk  to  Cicely  about  this.  She  doesn't 
care  for  me  as  much  as  you  do." 

"  Perhaps  not  quite,"  said  honest  Merry. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure — certain  of  it.  Then  you  will  be  my 
friend  as  I  shall  be  yours,  and  when  we  meet  at  Aylmer 
House  you  will  talk  of  me  to  others  as  your  friend?" 

"  Of  course  I  shall." 

"  That's  what  I  require.  The  thought  of  your  friendship 
when  I  love  you  so  passionately  makes  sunshine  in  my  heart. 
I  sha'n't  be.  miserable  at  all  to-morrow  after  what  you  have 
said.  I  shall  think  of  our  pleasant  talk  under  this  great 
oak-tree;  I  shall  recall  this  lovely,  perfect  day.  Merry, 
you  have  made  me  very  happy!" 

"  But  please  understand."  said  Merry,  "  that,  although  I 
am  your  friend,  I  cannot  give  up  Aneta." 

"Certainly  not,  dear;  only,  don't  take  what  you  call  sides. 
It  is  quite  reasonable  to  suppose  that  girls  who  have  only 


70  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

just  come  to  school  would  prefer  to  be  there  at  first  quite 
free  and  untrammeled;  and  to  belong  to  a  certain  set  im- 
mediately trammels  you." 

"  Well,  I,  for  one,  will  promise — at  any  rate  at  first — that 
I  won't  belong  to  any  set,  said  Merry.  "  Now,  are  you  sat- 
isfied, Maggie?" 

"  Oh,  truly  I  am!    Do  let  me  kiss  you,  darling." 

The  girls  kissed  very  affectionately. 

Then  Maggie  said,  "  Now  I  am  quite  happy."  After  a 
pause,  she  continued  as  though  it  were  an  after-thought, 
"  Of  course  you  won't  speak  of  this  to  any  one?  " 

"Unless,  perhaps,  to  Cicely,"  said  Merry. 

"  No,  not  even  to  Cicely;  for  if  you  found  it  hard  to  under- 
stand, she  would  find  it  impossible." 

"  But,"  said  Merry,  "  I  never  had  a  secret  from  her  in  my 
life.  She  is  my  twin,  you  know." 

"  Please,  please,"  said  Maggie,  "  keep  this  little  secret  all 
to  yourself  for  my  sake.  Oh,  do  think  how  important  it  is 
to  me,  and  how  much  more  you  have  to  be  thankful  for 
than  I  have! " 

"  If  you  feel  it  like  that,  poor  Maggie,"  said  Merry,  "  I  will 
keep  it  as  my  own  secret." 

"  Then  I  have  nothing  further  to  say."  Maggie  sprang  to 
her  feet.  "  There  are  the  boys  running  to  meet  us,"  she  said. 
"  I  know  they'll  want  my  help  in  preparing  the  fire  for  the 
gipsy-kettle." 

"And  I  will  join  the  others.  There's  Susan  Heathfield; 
she  is  all  alone,"  said  Merry.  "  But  one  moment  first,  please, 
Maggie.  Are  you  going  to  make  Molly  and  Isabel  bind  them- 
selves by  the  same  promise?" 

"Dear  me,  no!"  said  Maggie.  "They  will  naturally  be 
my  friends  without  any  effort;  but  you  are  the  one  I  want, 
for  you  are  the  one  I  truly  love." 

"Hallo!  there  you  are,"  called  Andrew's  voice,  "hobnob- 
bing, as  usual,  with  Merry  Cardew." 

"  I  say,  Merry,"  cried  Jack,  "  it  is  unfair  of  you  to  take  our 
Maggie  away  on  her  last  day." 

The  two  bays  now  rushed  up. 

"  I  am  going  to  cry  bottles-full  to-morrow,"  said  Andrew; 
"  and,  although  I  am  a  boy,  about  to  be  a  man,  I'm  not  a 
bit  ashamed  of  it." 

"  I'll  beat  you  at  that,"  said  Jackdaw,  "  for  I'll  cry  basins- 
full." 

"  Dear  me,  boys,  how  horrid  of  you!  "  said  Maggie.  "  What 
on  earth  good  will  crying  do  to  me?  And  you'll  both  be  so 
horribly  limp  and  damp  after  it." 

"  Well,  come  now,"  said  Jackdaw,  pulling  her  by  one  arm 
while  Peterkin  secured  the  other. — "  YouVe  had  your  share 
of  her,  Merry,  and  it's  our  turn." 

Maggie  and  her  devoted  satellites  went  off  in  the  direction 
where  the  bonfire  was  to  be  made;  and  Merry,  walking 
slowly,  joined  Susan  Heathfield. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  71 

Susan  was  more  than  two  years  older  than  Merry,  and  on 
that  account  the  younger  girls  looked  up  to  her  with  a  great 
deal  of  respect.  Up  to  the  present,  however,  they  had  had 
no  confidential  talk. 

Susan  now  said,  "  So  you  are  to  be  a  schoolgirl  after  all?  " 

"Yes.     Isn't  it  jolly?"  said  Merry. 

"  Oh,  it  has  its  pros  and  cons,"  replied  Susan.  "  In  one 
sense,  there  is  no  place  like  school;  but  in  the  best  sense  of 
all  there  is  no  place  like  home." 

"Were  you  long  at  school,  Susan?" 

"Of  course;  Mary  and  I  went  to  a  school  in  Devonshire 
when  we  were  quite  little  girls.  I  was  eleven  and  Mary  ten. 
Afterwards  we  were  at  a  London  school,  and  then  we  went  to 
Paris.  We  had  an  excellent  time  at  all  our  schools;  but 
I  think  the  best  fun  of  all  was  the  thought  of  the  holidays 
and  coming  home  again." 

"  That  must  be  delightful,"  said  Merry.  "  Did  you  make 
many  friends  at  school?" 

"  Well,  of  course,"  said  Susan.  "  But  now  let  me  give 
you  a  word  of  advice,  Merry.  You  are  going  to  a  most  de- 
lightful school,  which,  alas!  we  were  not  lucky  enough  to 
get  admitted  to,  although  mother  tried  very  hard.  It  may 
be  different  at  Aylmer  House  from  what  it  is  in  the  ordi- 
nary school,  but  I  would  strongly  advise  you  and  Cicely  not 
to  join  any  clique  at  school." 

"  Oh  dear,  how  very  queer!  "  said  Merry,  and  she  reddened 
deeply. 

"Why  do  you  look  like  that?"  said  Susan. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  said  Merry. 

Susan  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two.  Then  she  said, 
"That's  a  curious-looking  girl." 

"What  girl?"  said  Merry  indignantly. 

"  I  think  you  said  her  name  was  Rowland — Miss  How- 
land." 

"  She  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  girls  I  know,"  replied 
Merry  at  once. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  her,  you  see,  so  I  can't  say.  Aneta 
tells  me  that  she  is  a  member  of  your  school." 

"Yes;  and  I  am  so  delighted!"  said  Merry. 

Again  Susan  Heathfleld  was  silent,  feeling  a  little  puzzled; 
but  Merry  quickly  changed  the  conversation,  for  she  did  not 
want  to  have  any  more  talk  with  regard  to  Maggie  Howland. 
Merry,  however,  had  a  very  transparent  face.  Her  conver- 
sation with  her  friend  had  left  traces  of  anxiety  and  even 
slight  apprehension  on  her  sweet,  open  face.  Merry  Gardew 
was  oppressed  by  the  first  secret  of  her  life,  and  it  is 
perhaps  to  be  regretted,  or  perhaps  the  reverse,  that  she 
found  it  almost  impossible  to  keep  a  secret. 

"  Well,"  Cicely  said  to  her  as  they  were  hurrying  from  the 
shady  woods  in  the  direction  of  the  picnic-tea,  "  what  is 
wrong  with  you,  Merry?  Have  you  a  headache?" 

"Oh  no;  I  am  perfectly  all  right,"  said  Merry,  brightening 


72  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

up.  "  It's  only — well,  to  say  the  truth,  I  am  sorry  that 
Maggie  is  going  to-morrow." 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  her,  aren't  you?  "  said  Cicely. 

"Well,  yes;  that  is  it,  I  am,"  said  Merry. 

"  We'll  see  plenty  of  her  at  school,  anyway,"  said  Cicely. 

"  I  wish  she  were  rich,"  said  Merry.  "  I  hate  to  think  of 
her  as  poor." 

""Is  she  poor?  "  asked  Cicely. 

"Oh  yes;  she  was  just  telling  me,  poor  darling!" 

"  I  don't  understand  what  it  means  to  be  poor,"  said  Cicely. 
"  People  say  it  is  very  bad,  but  somehow  I  can't  take  it  in." 

"  Maggie  takes  it  in,  at  any  rate,"  said  Merry.  "  Think  of 
us  to-morrow,  Cicely,  having  more  fun,  being  out  again  in 
the  open  air,  having  pleasant  companions  all  round  us,  and 
our  beautiful  home  to  go  back  to,  and  our  parents,  whom 
we  love  so  dearly;  and  then,  next  week,  of  the  house  by  the 
sea,  and  Aneta  and  Molly  and  Isabel  our  companions." 

"  Well,  of  course,"  said  Cicely. 

"  And  then  think  of  poor  Maggie,"  continued  Merry. 
"  She'll  be  shut  up  in  a  musty,  fusty  London  lodging.  I 
can't  think  how  she  endures  it." 

"  I  don't  know  what  a  musty,  fusty  lodging  is,"  said  Cicely; 
"  but  she  could  have  come  with  us,  because  mother  invited 
her." 

"  She  can't,  because  her  own  mother  wants  her.  Oh  dear! 
I  wish  we  could  have  her  and  her  mother  too." 

"  Come  on  now,  Merry,  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  ask  father 
and  mother  to  invite  Mrs.  Howland." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  quite  understand  that,"  replied  Merry. 
"  Nevertheless,  I  am  a  little  sad  about  dear  Maggie." 

Merry's  sadness  took  a  practical  form.  She  thought  a 
great  deal  about  her  friend  during  the  rest  of  that  day,  al- 
though Maggie  rather  avoided  her.  She  thought,  in  par- 
ticular, of  Maggie's  poverty,  and  wondered  what  poverty 
really  meant.  The  poor  people — those  who  were  called  poor 
at  Meredith — did  not  really  suffer  at  all,  for  it  was  the 
bounden  duty  of  the  squire  of  the  Manor  to  see  to  all  their 
wants,  to  provide  them  with  comfortable  houses  and  nice 
gardens,  and  if  they  were  ill  to  give  them  the  advice  of  a 
good  doctor,  also  to  send  them  nourishing  food  from  the 
Manor.  But  poor  people  of  that  sort  were  quite  different 
from  the  Maggie  Howland  sort.  Merry  could  not  imagine 
any  lord  of  the  manor  taking  Maggie  and  Mrs.  Howland  in 
hand  and  providing  them  with  all  the  good  things  of  life. 

But  all  of  a  sudden  it  darted  through  her  eager,  affec- 
tionate little  heart  that  she  herself  might  be  lord  of  the 
manor  to  Maggie,  and  might  help  Maggie  out  of  her  own 
abundance.  If  it  were  impossible  to  get  Maggie  Howland 
and  her  mother  both  invited  to  Scarborough,  why  should  not 
she,  Merry,  provide  Maggie  with  means  to  take  her  mother 
from  the  fusty,  dusty  lodgings  to  another  seaside  resort? 

Merry  thought  over  this  for  some  time,  and  the  more  she 


THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS.  73 

thought  over  it  the  more  enamored  she  was  of  the  idea.  She 
and  Cicely  had,  of  course,  no  special  means  of  their  own, 
nor  could  they  have  until  they  came  of  age.  Nevertheless, 
they  were  allowed  as  pocket-money  ten  pounds  every  quar- 
ter. Now,  Merry's  ten  pounds  would  be  due  in  a  week.  She 
really  did  not  want  it.  When  she  got  it  she  spent  it  mostly 
on  presents  for  her  friends  and  little  gifts  for  the  villagers; 
but  on  this  accasion  she  might  give  it  all  in  one  lump  sum 
to  Maggie  Howland.  Surely  her  father  would  let  her  have 
it?  She  might  give  it  to  Maggie  early  to-morrow  morning. 
Maggie  would  not  be  too  proud  to  accept  it  just  as  a  tiny 
present. 

Merry  had  as  little  idea  how  far  ten  pounds  would  go  to- 
ward the  expenses  of  a  visit  to  the  seaside  as  she  had  of 
what  real  poverty  meant.  But  it  occurred  to  her  as  a  de- 
lightful way  of  assuring  Maggie  of  her  friendship  to  present 
Maggie  with  her  quarter's  pocket-money. 

On  their  way  home  that  evening,  therefore,  she  was  only 
too  glad  to  find  herself  by  her  father's  side. 

"  Well,  little  girl,"  he  said,  "  so  you're  forsaking  all  your 
young  companions  and  wish  to  sit  close  to  the  old  dad?  " 

The  old  dad,  it  may  be  mentioned,  was  driving  home  in  a 
mail-phaeton  from  the  picnic,  and  Merry  found  herself 
perched  high  up  beside  him  as  he  held  the  reins  and  guided 
a  pair  of  thoroughbred  horses. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  little  girl?"  he  said. 

"I  wonder,  father,  if  you'd  be  most  frightfully  kind?" 

"What!"  he  answered,  just  glancing  at  her;  "that  means 
that  you  are  discontented  again.  What  more  can  I  do  for 
you,  Merry?" 

"  If  I  might  only  have  my  pocket-money  to-night." 

"You  extravagant  child!  Your  pocket-money!  It  isn't 
due  for  a  week." 

"  But  I  dp  want  it  very  specially.  Will  you  advance  it  to 
me  just  this  once,  dad?  " 

"  I  am  not  to  know  why  you  want  it?  " 

"  No,  dad  darling,  you  are  not  to  know." 

Mr.  Cardew  considered  for  a  minute. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  be  a  really  extravagant  wom- 
an, Merry,"  he  said.  "  To  tell  the  truth,  I  hate  extravagance, 
although  I  equally  hate  stinginess.  You  will  have  no  lack 
of  money,  child,  but  money  is  a  great  and  wonderful  gift  and 
ought  to  be  used  to  the  best  of  best  advantages.  It  ought 
never  to  be  wasted,  for  there  are  so  many  people  who  haven't 
half  enough,  and  those  who  are  rich,  my  child,  ought  to  help 
those  who  are  not  rich." 

"  Yes,  darling  father,"  said  Merry;  "  and  that  is  what  I 
should  so  awfully  like  to  do." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  have  the  root  of  the  matter  in  you," 
said  Mr.  Cardew,  "  and  I,  for  one,  am  the  last  person  to  pry 
on  my  child.  Does  Cicely  also  want  her  money  in  advance?  " 

"  Oh  no,  no!     I  want  it  for  a  very  special  reason." 


74  THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

".Very  well,  my  little  girl.  Come  to  me  in  the  study  to- 
night before  you  go  to  bed,  and  you  shall  have  your  money." 

"In  sovereigns,  please,  father?" 

"  Yes,  child,  in  sovereigns." 

"  Thank  you  ever  so  much,  darling." 

During  the  rest  of  the  drive  there  was  no  girl  happier 
than  Merry  Cardew.  Mr.  Cardew  looked  at  her  once  or 
twice,  and  wondered  what  all  this  meant.  But  he  was  not 
going  to  question  her. 

When  they  got  home  he  took  her  away  to  his  study,  and, 
opening  a  drawer,  took  out  ten  sovereigns. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  he  said  as  he  put  them  into  her 
hand,  "  that  when  you  go  to  school  I  shall  raise  your  pocket- 
money  allowance  to  fifteen  pounds  a  quarter.  That  is  quite 
as  large  a  sum  as  a  girl  of  your  age  ought  to  have  in  the 
year.  I  do  this  because  I  well  understand  that  at  Mrs. 
Ward's  school  there  will  be  special  opportunities  for  you  to 
act  in  a  philanthropic  manner." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,  father!"  said  Merry. 


CHAPTER   XII. 
SHEPHERD'S   BUSH. 

WHILE  Merry  was  in  a  state  of  high  rejoicing  at  this 
simple  means  of  helping  her  friend,  Maggie  Rowland  herself 
was  not  having  quite  such  a  good  time.  She  had  been  much 
relieved  by  her  conversation  with  Merry,  but  shortly  after  the 
picnic-tea  Aneta  had  come  up  to  her. 

"  Would  you  like  to  walk  with  me,"  said  Aneta,  "  as  far 
as  the  giant  oak?  It  isn't  a  great  distance  from  here,  and 
I'll  not  keep  you  long." 

"  Certainly  I  will  come  with  you,  Aneta,"  said  Maggie;  but 
she  felt  uncomfortable,  and  wondered  what  it  meant. 

The  two  girls  set  off  together.  They  made  a  contrast 
which  must  have  been  discernible  to  the  eyes  of  all  those 
who  saw  them:  Aneta  the  very  essence  of  elegance;  Maggie 
spotlessly  neat,  but,  compared  to  her  companion,  downright 
plain.  Aneta  was  tall  and  slim;  Maggie  was  short.  Never- 
theless, her  figure  was  her  good  pcfint,  and  she  made  the 
most  of  it  by  having  perfectly  fitting  clothes.  This  very 
fact,  however,  took  somewhat  from  her  appearance,  and 
gave  her  the  look  of  a  grown-up  girl,  whereas  she  was  still 
only  a  child. 

As  soon  as  ever  the  girls  got  out  of  earshot,  Aneta  turned 
to  Maggie  and  said  gravely,  My  cousins  the  Cardews  are  to 
join  us  all  at  Aylmer  House  in  September." 

Maggie  longed  to  say,  "  Thank  you  for  nothing,"  but  she 
never  dared  to  show  rudeness  to  Aneta.  No  one  had  ever 
been  rude  to  the  stately  young  lady. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  Then  she  added,  "I  ana  so  glad!  Aren't 
you?  " 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  75 

"  For  some  reasons  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Aneta. 

"  But  surely  for  all,  aren't  you?  " 

"  Not  for  all,"  replied  Aneta. 

How  Maggie  longed  to  give  her  companion  a  fierce  push, 
or  otherwise  show  how  she  detested  her! 

"  I  will  tell  you  why  I  regret  it,"  said  Aneta,  turning  her 
calm,  beautiful  eyes  upon  Maggie's  face. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Maggie. 

"  I  regret  it,  Maggie  Howland,  because  you  are  at  the 
school." 

"How  very  polite!"  said  Maggie,  turning  crimson. 

"  It  is  not  polite,"  said  Aneta,  "  and  I  am  sorry  that  I 
have  to  speak  as  I  do;  but  it  is  necessary.  We  needn't  go 
into  particulars;  but  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  and 
please  understand  that  what  I  say  I  mean.  You  know  that 
when  first  you  came  to  the  school  I  was  as  anxious  as  any 
one  else  to  be  kind  to  you,  to  help  you,  to  be  good  to  you. 
You  know  the  reason  why  I  changed  my  mind.  You  know 
what  you  did.  You  know  that  were  Mrs.  Ward  to  have  the 
slightest  inkling  of  what  really  occurred  you  would  not  re- 
main another  hour  at  Aylmer  House.  I  haven't  told  any  one 
what  I  know;  but  if  you,  Maggie,  tamper  with  Cicely  and 
Merry  Cardew,  who  are  my  cousins  and  dear  friends — if  you 
W'in  them  over  to  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  your  side  of 
the  school — I  shall  consider  it  my  duty  to  tell  Mrs.  Ward 
what  I  have  hitherto  kept  back  from  her." 

Maggie  was  trembling  very  violently. 

"  You  could  not  be  so  cruel,"  she  said  after  a  pause. 

"  I  have  long  thought,"  continued  Aneta,  speaking  in  her 
calm,  gentle  voice,  "that  I  did  wrong  at  the  time  to  keep 
silent;  but  you  got  my  promise,  and  I  kept  it." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Maggie,  "I  got  your  promise;  you 
wouldn't  dare  to  break  it?  " 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Aneta.  "  If  the  circumstances 
to  which  I  have  just  alluded  should  arise  I  would  break  that 
promise.  Now  you  understand?" 

"  I  think  you  are  the  meanest,  the  cruellest — I  think  you 
are There,  I  hate  you!"  said  Maggie. 

"  You  have  no  reason  to.  I  will  not  interfere  with  you 
if  you,  on  your  part,  leave  those  I  love  alone.  Cicely  and 
Merry  are  coming  to  the  school  because  I  am  there,  because 
my  aunt  rec9mmends  the  school,  because  it  is  a  good  school. 
Leave  off  doing  wrong,  and  join  us,  Maggie,  in  what  is  noble 
and  high;  but  continue  your  present  course  aC  your  peril. 
You  would  do  anything  for  power;  you  go  too  far.  You 
have  influenced  one  or  two  girls  adversely  already.  I  am 
convinced  that  Mrs.  Ward  does  not  trust  you.  If  you  inter- 
fere with  Cicely  or  Merry,  Mrs.  Ward  will  have  good  reason 
to  dislike  you,  for  I  myself  shall  open  her  eyes." 

"You  will  be  an  informer,  a  tell-tale?" 

"You  can  call  me  any  names  you  like,  Maggie;  I  shall 
simply  do  what  I  consider  my  duty." 


76  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"Oh,  but —  -    I  hate  you!"  said  Maggie  again. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  hate  me,  for  it  isn't  necessary;  and  if  I 
saw  you  in  the  least  like  others  I  should  do  all  in  my  power 
to  help  you.  Now,  will  you  give  me  your  promise  that  you 
won't  interfere  with  Cicely  and  Merry?  " 

"  But  does  this  mean — does  this  mean,"  said  Maggie,  who 
was  almost  choking  with  rage,  "  that  I  am  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  Cardews?  " 

"  You  are  on  no  account  to  draw  the  Cardews  into  the 
circle  of  your  friends,  who  are,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  limited. 
If  you  do,  you  know  the  consequences,  and  I  am  not  the 
sort  of  girl  to  go  back  when  I  have  firmly  made  up  my  mind 
on  a  certain  point." 

Maggie  suddenly  clutched  hold  of  her  companion's  arm. 

"  I  am  miserable  enough  already,"  she  said,  "  and  you 
make  my  life  unendurable!  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to 
have  a  mother  like  mine,  and  to  be  starvingly  poor." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  are  poor,  Maggie,  and  I  am  very 
sorry  for  you  with  regard  to  your  mother,  although  I  do 
not  think  you  ought  to  speak  unkindly  of  her.  But  your 
father  was  a  very  good  man,  and  you  might  live  up  to  his 
memory.  "  I  saw  you  and  Merry  together  to-day.  Beware 
how  you  try  to  influence  her." 

"Oh,  I  can't  stand  you!"  said  Maggie. 

"  I  have  said  my  say.  Shall  we  return  to  the  others? " 
said  Aneta  in  her  calm  voice. 

"  If  she  would  only  get  'into  a  rage  and  we  might  have 
a  hand-to-hand  fight  I  should  feel  better,"  thought  Maggie. 
But  she  was  seriously  alarmed,  for  she  well  remembered 
something  which  had  happened  at  school,  which  Aneta  had 
discovered,  and  which,  if  known,  would  force  Mrs.  Ward  to 
dismiss  her  from  the  establishment.  Such  a  course  would 
spell  ruin.  Maggie  had  strong  feelings,  but  she  had  also  self- 
control;  and  by  the  time  the  two  joined  the  others  her  face 
looked  much  as  usual. 

On  the  following  morning  early  a  little  girl  ran  swiftly 
from  the  Manor  to  the  rectory.  Maggie  was  to  leave  by 
the  eleven  o'clock  train.  Merry  appeared  on  the  scene  soon 
after  nine. 

"  I  want  you,  Maggie,  all  quite  by  yourself,"  said  Merry, 
speaking  with  such  excitement  that  Molly  and  Belle  looked 
at  her  in  unbounded  amazement. 

"  You  can't  keep  her  long,"  said  Peterkins  and  Jackdaw, 
"  for  it  is  our  very  last  day,  and  Spot-ear  and  Fanciful  want 
to  .say  good-bye  to  her.  You  can't  have  the  darling  more 
than  three  minutes  at  the  most." 

"  I  am  going  to  keep  Maggie  f9r  ten  minutes,  and  no 
longer. — Come  along  at  once,  Maggie,"  said  Merry  Gardew. 

They  went  out  into  the  grounds,  and  Merry,  putting  her 
hand  into  her  pocket,  took  out  a  little  brown  leather  bag. 
She  thrust  it  into  her  companion's  hand. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Maggie. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  77 

"  It  is  for  you — for  you,  darling,"  said  Merry.  "  Take  it, 
as  a  loan,  if  you  like — only  take  it.  It  is  only  ten  pounds. 
I  am  afraid  you  will  think  it  nothing  at  all;  but  do  take  it, 
just  as  a  mere  loan.  It  is  my  pocket-money  for  the  next 
quarter.  Perhaps  you  could  go  from  the  musty,  fusty  lodg- 
ings to  some  fresher  place  with  this  to  help  you.  Do — do 
take  it,  Maggie!  I  shall  so  love  you  if  you  do." 

Maggie's  narrow  eyes  grew  wide.  Maggie's  sallow  face 
flushed.  There  came  a  wild  commotion  in  her  heart — a 
real,  genuine  sense  of  downright  love  for  the  girl  who  had 
done  this  thing  for  her.  And  ten  pounds,  which  meant  so 
very  little  to  Merry  Cardew,  held  untold  possibilities  for 
Maggie. 

"  You  will  hurt  me  frightfully  if  you  refuse,"  said  Merry. 

Maggie  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  Suppose,  by  any 
chance,  it  got  to  Aneta's  ears  that  she  had  taken  this  money 
from  Merry;  suppose  it  got  abroad  in  the  school!  Oh,  she 
dared  not  take  it!  she  must  not! 

"  What  is  it,  Maggie?  Why  don't  you  speak?  "  said  Merry, 
looking  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"I  love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul,"  said  Maggie; 
"  but  I  just  can't  take  the  money." 

"Oh  Maggie!  but  why?" 

"I  can't,  dear;  I  can't.  It — it  would  not  be  right.  You 
mustn't  lower  me  in  my  own  estimation.  I  should  feel  low 
down  if  I  took  your  money.  I  know  well  I  am  poor,  and 
so  is  dear  mother,  and  the  lodgings  are  fusty  and  musty,  but 
we  are  neither  of  us  so  poor  as  that.  I'll  never  forget  that 
you  brought  it  to  me,  and  I'll  love  you  just  more  than 
I  have  ever  done;  but  I  can't  take  it." 

"Do  come  on,  Maggie!"  shouted  Jackdaw.  "Fanciful  is 
dying  for  his  breakfast;  and  as  to  Peterkins,  he  has  got  Spot- 
ear  out  of  his  cage.  Peterkins  is  crying  like  anything,  and 
his  tears  are  dropping  on  Spot-ear,  and  Spot-ear  doesn't 
like  it.  Do  come  on!" 

"  Yes,  yes;  I  am  coming,"  said  Maggie — "  Good-bye,  darling 
Merry.  My  best  thanks  and  best  love." 

That  evening,  or  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  Maggie 
appeared  at  Shepherd's  Bush.  She  had  been  obliged  to  travel 
third-class,  and  the  journey  was  hot  and  dusty. 

She  lay  back  against  the  cushions  with  a  tired  feeling 
all  over  her.  For  a  time  she  had  been  able  to  forget  her 
poverty.  Now  it  had  fully  returned  to  her,  and  she  was  not 
in  the  mood  to  be  good-natured.  There  was  no  need  to 
show  any  charm  or  any  kindliness  to  her  neighbors,  who, 
in  their  turn,  thought  her  a  disagreeable,  plain  girl,  not 
worth  any  special  notice. 

It  was,  therefore,  by  no  means  a  prepossessing-looking  girl 
wrho  ran  up  the  high  flight  of  steps  which  belonged  to  that 
lodging-house  in  Shepherd's  Bush  where  Mrs.  Rowland  was 
staying.  Maggie  knew  the  lodgings  well,  although  she  had 
never  spent  much  time  there.  As  a  rule,  she  contrived 


78  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

to  spend  almost  -all  her  holidays  with  friends;  but  on  this 
occasion  her  mother  had  sent  for  her  in  a  very  summary 
manner;  and,  although  Maggie  had  no  real  love  for  her 
mother,  she  was  afraid  to  disobey  her. 

Mrs.  Rowland  occupied  the  drawing-room  floor  of  the  said 
lodgings.  They  were  kept  by  a  Mrs.  Ross,  an  untidy  and  by 
no  means  too  clean-looking  woman.  Mrs.  Ross  kept  one 
small  "  general,"  and  the  general's  name  was  Tildy.  Tildy- 
had  bright-red  hair  and  a  great  many  freckles  on  her  round 
face.  She  was  squat  in  figure,  and  had  a  perpetual  smut  either 
on  her  cheek  or  forehead.  In  the  morning  she  was  nothing 
better  than  a  slavey,  but  in  the  afternoon  she  generally 
managed  to  put  on  a  cap  with  long  white  streamers  and 
an  apron  with  a  bib.  Tildy  thought  herself  very  fine  in  this 
attire,  and  she  had  donned  it  now  in  honor  of  Miss  How- 
land's  arrival.  She  had  no  particular  respect  for  Mrs.  How- 
land,  but  she  had  a  secret  and  consuming  admiration  for 
Maggie. 

Maggie  had  been  kind  to  Tildy  once  or  twice,  and  had  even 
given  the  general  a  cast-off  dress  of  her  own.  Maggie  was 
plain,  and  yet  people  liked  her  and  listened  to  her  words. 

"  Oh  miss,"  said  Tildy  when  she  opened  the  front  door, 
"it's  me  that's  glad  to  see  you!  Your  ma  is  upstairs; 
she's  took  writh  a  headache,  but  you'll  find  her  lyin'  down  on 
the  sofy  in  the  drawin'-room." 

"  Then  I'll  run  up  at  once,  Matilda,"  said  Maggie.  "  And 
how  are  you?  "  she  added  good-naturedly.  "  Oh,  you've  got 
your  usual  smut." 

"  Indicate  the  spot,  miss,  and  it  shall  be  moved  instan- 
cious,"  said  Tildy.  "  Seems  to  me  as  if  never  could  get 
rid  of  smuts,  what  with  the  kitchen-range,  and  missus  bein' 
so  exacsheous,  and  Tildy  here,  Tildy  there;  Tildy  do  this, 
Tildy  do  t'  other,  soundin'  in  my  hears  all  day  long." 

"  You  are  a  very  good  girl,"  said  Maggie,  "  and  if  I  were 
in  your  place  I'd  have  a  hundred  smuts,  not  one.  But 
take  it  off  now.  do;  it's  on  the  very  center  of  your  fore- 
head. And  bring  me  some  tea  to  the  drawing-room,  for  I'm 
ever  so  thirsty." 

"  You've  been  in  a  blessed  wondrous  castle  since,  haven't 
you,  missie?"  said  Matilda  in  a  voice  of  suppressed  awe. 

"  I  know  some  young  ladies  who  live  in  a  castle;  but  I  my- 
self have  been  at  a  rectory,"  said  Maggie.  "  Now,  don't  keep 
me.  Oh,  here's  a  shilling  for  the  cabman;  give  it  to  him, 
and  get  my  box  taken  upstairs." 

Maggie  flew  up  the  steep,  badly  carpeted  stairs  to  the 
hideous  drawing-room.  Her  spirits  had  been  very  low;  but, 
somehow,  Tildy  had  managed  to  revive  them.  Tildy  was 
plain,  and  very  much  lower  than  Maggie  in  the  social  scale; 
but  Tildy  admired  her,  and  because  of  that  admiration  made 
her  life  more  or  less  endurable  in  the  fusty,  musty  lodgings. 
She  had  always  cultivated  Tildy's  good  will,  and  she  thought 
of  the  girl  now  with  a  strange  sense  of  pity. 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  79 

"  Compared  to  her,  I  suppose  I  am  well  off,"  thought  Mag- 
gie. "I  have  only  five  weeks  at  the  most  to  endure  this 
misery;  then  there  will  be  Aylmer  House." 

She  opened  the  drawing-room  door  and  entered.  Mrs.  How- 
land  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  which  was  covered  with  faded 
rep  and  had  a  broken  spring.  She  had  a  handkerchief  wrung 
out  of  aromatic  vinegar  over  her  forehead.  Her  eyes  were 
shut,  and  her  exceedingly  thin  face  was  very  pale.  When 
her  daughter  entered  the  room  she  opened  a  pair  of  faded 
eyes  and  looked  at  her,  but  no  sense  of  pleasure  crossed  Mrs. 
Rowland's  shallow  face.  On  the  contrary,  she  looked  much 
worried,  and  said,  in  a  cross  tone,  "  I  wish  you  would  not  be 
so  noisy,  Maggie.  Didn't  Tildy  tell  you  that  I  had  an  acute 
headache?  " 

"  Yes,  mother;  and  I  didn't  know  I  was  noisy,"  replied  Mag- 
gie.   "  I  came  upstairs  as  softly  as  possible.    That  door  "- 
she  pointed  to  the  door  by  which  she  had  entered — "  creaks 
horribly.    That  is  not  my  fault." 

"  Excusing  yourself,  as  usual,"  said  Mrs.  Howland. 

"  Well,  mother,"  said  Maggie  after  a  pause,  "  may  I  kiss 
you  now  that  I  have  come  back  against  my  will?  " 

"  I  knew  you'd  be  horribly  discontented,"  said  Mrs.  Howland; 
**  but  of  course  you  may  kiss  me." 

Maggie  bent  down  and  touched  her  mother's  cheek  with  her 
young  lips. 

"  I  was  having  a  beautiful  time,"  she  said,  "  and  you  don't 
seem  glad  now  that  I  have  come  back.  What  is  the  matter?  " 

"  I  have  something  to  communicate  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  How- 
land.  "  I  did  not  think  I  could  write  it;  therefore  I  was  obliged 
to  have  you  with  me.  But  we  won't  talk  of  it  for  a  little. 
Have  you  ordered  tea?" 

"  Yes,  mother.    Tildy  is  bringing  it." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "  What  a  hot  day  it 
is!"  she  continued. 

"  This  room  is  stifling,"  replied  Maggie.  "  Do  you  mind 
if  I  pull  down  the  Venetian  blinds?  That  will  keep  some  of 
the  sun  out." 

"  The  blinds  are  all  broken,"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "  I  haye 
spoken  to  that  woman  Ross  till  I  am  tired,  but  s,he  never  will 
see  to  my  wishes  in  any  way." 

"  I  can't  imagine  why  we  stay  here,  mother." 

"  Oh!  don't  begin  your  grumbles  now,"  said  Mrs.  Howland. 
"  I  have  news  for  you  when  tea  is  over." 

Just  then  the  drawing-room  door  was  opened  by  means  of 
a  kick  and  a  bump,  and  Tildy  entered,  weighed  down  by  an 
enormous  tea-tray.  Maggie  ran  to  prepare  a  table  for  its 
reception,  and  Tildy  Io9ked  at  her  with  eyes  of  fresh  admira- 
tion. Mrs.  Howland  raised  herself  and  also  looked  at  the  girl. 

"  Have  you  kept  the  cakes  downstairs,  and  the  muffins  that 
I  ordered,  and  the  gooseberries?  " 

"  No,  um,"  said  Tildy.  "  I  brought  them  up  for  Miss  Mag- 
gie's tea." 


80  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  I  told  you  they  were  not  to  be  touched  till  Mr.  Martin 
came." 

"Yes,  urn,"  said  Tildy;  "but  me  and  Mrs.  Ross  thought  as 
Miss  Maggie  'u'd  want  'em." 

Mrs.  Rowland  glanced  at  her  daughter.  Then  all  of  a  sud- 
den, and  quite  unexpectedly,  her  faded  face  grew  red.  She 
perceived  an  expression  of  inquiry  in  Maggie's  eyes  which 
rather  frightened  her. 

"  It's  all  right,"  she  said.  "  Now  that  you've  brought  the 
things  up,  Tildy,  leave  them  here,  and  go.  When  Mr.  Martin 
comes,  show  him  up.  Now  leave  us,  and  be  quick  about  it." 

Tildy  departed,  slamming  the  door  behind  her. 

"How  noisy  that  girl  is!"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "Well,  I 
am  better  now;  I'll  just  go  into  our  bedroom  and  get  tidy. 
I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes.  I  mustn't  be  seen  looking  this 
fright  when  Mr.  Martin  comes." 

"  But  who  is  Mr.  Martin?  "  said  Maggie. 

"  You  will  know  presently,"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "  It's  about 
him  that  I  have  news." 

Maggie  felt  her  heart  thumping  in  a  very  uncomfortable 
manner.  The  bedroom  which  she  and  her  mother  shared 
together — that  is,  when  Maggie  was  with  her  mother — was 
at  the  back  of  the  drawing-room.  Mrs.  Howland  remained 
there  for  about  five  minutes,  and  during  that  time  Maggie 
helped  herself  to  a  cup  of  tea,  for  she  was  feverishly  hot  and 
thirsty. 

Her  mother  returned  at  the  end  of  five  minutes,  looking 
wonderfully  better,  and  in  fact  quite  rejuvenated.  Her  dress 
was  fairly  neat.  She  had  a  slight  color  in  her  pale  cheeks 
which  considerably  brightened  her  light-blue  eyes.  Her  faded 
hair  was  arranged  with  some  neatness,  and  she  had  put  on  a 
white  blouse  and  a  blue  alpaca  skirt. 

"  Oh  mother,"  said  Maggie,  hailing  this  change  with  great 
relief,  "how  much  better  you  look  now!  I  am  a  comfort  to 
you,  am  I  not,  mums?  I  sha'n't  mind  coming  back  and  giving 
up  all  my  fun  if  I  am  a  real  comfort  to  you." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  sent  for  you  but  for  Mr.  Martin,"  said 
Mrs.  Howland.  "  It  was  he  who  wished  it.  Yes,  I  am  much 
better  now,  though  I  cannot  honestly  say  that  you  are  the 
cause.  It's  the  thought  of  seeing  Mr.  Martin  that  cheers  me 
up;  I  must  be  tidy  for  him.  Yes,  you  may  pour  out  a  cup 
of  tea  for  me;  only  see  that  you  keep  some  really  strong 
tea  in  the  teapot  for  Mr.  Martin,  for  he  cannot  bear  it  weak. 
He  calls  weak  tea  wish-wash." 

"But  whoever  is  this  mysterious  person?"  said  Maggie. 

"  I  will  tell  you  in  a  minute  or  two.  You  may  give  me  one 
of  those  little  cakes.  No,  I  couldn't  stand  muffins;  I  hate  them 
in  hot  weather.  Besides,  my  digestion  isn't  what  it  was;  but 
I  shall  be  all  right  by-and-by;  so  will  you  too,  my  dear.  And 
what  I  do,  I  d9  for  you." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  you  are  doing  for 
me,  and  get  it  over,"  said  Maggie.  "  You  were  always  very 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  81 

peculiar,  mums,  always — even  when  dear  father  was  alive— 
and  you're  not  less  so  now." 

"  That's  a  very  unkind  way  for  a  child  to  speak  of  her 
parent."  said  Mrs.  Rowland;  "but  I  can  assure  you,  Maggie, 
that  Mr.  Martin  won't  allow  it  in  the  future." 

Maggie  now  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Good  gracious,  mother!  What  has  Mr.  Martin  to  do  with 
me?  Is  he — is  he — it  cannot  be,  mother!  " 

"  Yes,  I  can,"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "  I  may  as  well  have  it 
out  first  as  last.  I  am  going  to  marry  Mr.  Martin." 

"Mother!" 

There  was  a  wailing  cry  in  Maggie's  voice.  No  girl  can 
stand  with  equanimity  her  mother  marrying  a  second  time; 
and  as  Maggie,  with  all  her  dreams  of  her  own  future,  had 
never  for  an  instant  contemplated  this  fact,  she  was  simply 
staggered  for  a  minute  or  two. 

"  You  will  have  to  take  it  in  the  right  spirit,  my  dear,"  said 
her  mother.  "  I  can't  stand  this  life  any  longer.  I  want 
money,  and  comforts,  and  devotion,  and  the  love  of  a  faith- 
ful husband,  and  Mr.  Martin  will  give  me  all  these  things. 
He  is  willing  to  adopt  you  too.  He  said  so.  He  has  no  children 
of  his  own.  I  mean,  when  I  say  that,  that  his  first  family  are 
all  settled  in  life,  and  he  says  that  he  wouldn't  object  at  all 
to  a  pleasant,  lively  girl  in  the  house.  He  wants  you  to 
leave  school." 

"Leave  Aylmer  House!"  said  Maggie.    "Oh  no,  mother!" 

"  I  knew  you'd  make  a  fuss  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Howland. 
"  He  has  a  great  dislike  to  what  he  calls  fine  folks.  He  speaks 
of  them  as  daisies,  and  he  hates  daisies." 

"  But,  mother — mother  dear — before  he  comes,  tell  me 
something  about  him.  Where  did  you  meet  him?  Who  is 
he?  A  clergyman — a  barrister?  What  is  he,  mother?  " 

Mrs.  Howland  remained  silent  for  a  minute.  Then  she 
pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart.  Then  she  gave  way  to  a  burst 
of  hysterical  laughter. 

"  Just  consider  for  a  minute,  Maggie,"  she  said,  "  what  utter 
nonsense  you  are  talking.  Where  should  I  be  likely  to  meet 
a  clergyman  or  a  barrister?  Do  clergymen  or  barristers  or 
people  in  any  profession  come  to  houses  like  this?  Do  talk 
sense  when  you're  about  it." 

"  Well,  tell  me  what  he  is,  at  least." 

"  He  is  in — I  am  by  no  means  ashamed  of  it — in  trade" 

Now7,  it  so  happened  that  it  had  been  duly  impressed  upon 
Maggie's  mind  that  Mr.  Cardew  of  Meredith  Manor  was  also, 
so  to  speak,  in  trade;  that  is,  he  was  the  sleeping  partner 
in  one  of  the  largest  and  wealthiest  businesses  in  London. 
Maggie  therefore,  for  a  minute,  had  a  glittering  vision  of  a 
great  country-house  equal  in  splendor  to  Meredith  Manor, 
where  she  and  her  mother  could  live  together.  But  the  next 
minute  Mrs.  Howland  killed  these  glowing  hopes  even  in  the 
moment  of  their  birth. 

"  I  want  to  conceal  nothing  from  you,"  she  said.     "  Mr. 


82  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Martin  keeps  the  grocer's  shop  at  the  corner.  I  may  as  well 
say  that  I  met  him  when  I  went  to  that  shop  to  get  the  small 
articles  of  grocery  which  I  required  for  my  own  consumption. 
He  has  served  me  often  across  the  counter.  Then  one  day 
I  was  taken  rather  weak  and  ill  in  the  shop,  and  he  took 
me  into  his  back-parlor,  a  very  comfortable  room,  and  gave 
me  a  glass  of  excellent  old  port;  and  since  then,  somehow, 
we  have  been  friends.  He  is  a  widower,  I  a  widow.  His  chil- 
dren have  gone  into  the  world,  and  each  one  of  them  is  doing 
well.  My  child  is  seldom  or  never  with  her  mother.  It  is 
about  a  week  ago  since  he  asked  me  if  I  would  accept  him 
and  plenty,  instead  of  staying  as  I  am — a  genteel  widow  with 
so  little  money  that  I  am  half-starved.  His  only  objection 
to  our  marriage  is  the  thought  of  you,  Maggie;  for  he  said  that 
I  was  bringing  you  up  as  a  fine  lady,  with  no  provision  what- 
ever for  the  future.  He  hates  fine  ladies,  as  he  calls  them; 
in  fact,  he  is  dead  nuts  against  the  aristocracy." 

"  Oh  mother! "  wailed  poor  Maggie;  "  and  my  father  was  a 
gentleman ! " 

"  Mr.  Martin  has  quite  a  gentlemanly  heart,"  said  Mrs.  How- 
land.  "  I  don't  pretend  for  a  moment  that  he  is  in  the  same 
position  as  my  late  lamented  husband;  but  he  is  ten  times 
better  off,  and  we  shall  live  in  a  nice  little  house  in  Glapham, 
and  I  can  have  two  servants  of  my  own;  he  is  having  the  house 
refurnished  and  repapered  for  me — in  his  own  taste,  it  is  true, 
for  he  will  not  hear  of  what  he  calls  Liberty  rubbish.  But 
it  is  going  to  be  very  comfortable,  and  I  look  forward  to  my 
change  of  surroundings  with  great  satisfaction." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  Maggie,  "  you  always  did  think  of  your- 
self first.  But  what  about  me?" 

"  You  had  better  not  talk  to  me  in  that  strain  before  Mr. 
Martin.  He  is  very  deeply  devoted  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Howland: 
"  and  do  not  imagine  that  we  have  not  given  you  careful 
consideration.  He  is  willing  to  adopt  you,  but  insists  on  your 
leaving  Aylmer  House  and  coming  to  Laburnum  Villa  at  Glap- 
ham. From  what  he  says,  you  are  quite  sufficiently  educated, 
and  your  duty  now  is  to  look  after  your  mother  and  your  new 
father,  to  be  pleasant  to  me  all  day  long,  and  to  be  bright  and 
cheerful  with  him  when  he  comes  back  from  business  in  the 
evening.  If  you  play  your  cards  well,  Maggie,  he  will  leave 
you  well  provided  for,  as  he  is  quite  rich — of  course,  not 
rich  like  those  people  you  are  staying  near,  but  rich  for 
his  class.  I  am  very  much  pleased  myself  at  the  engage- 
ment. Our  banns  were  called  last  Sunday,  in  church,  and 
we  are  to  be  married  in  a  fortnight.  After  that,  you  had 
best  stay  on  here  until  we  desire  you  to  join  us  at  Laburnum 
Villa." 

"  I  can't,  mother,"  said  Maggie.    "  I  can't — and  I  won't." 

"  Oh,  come,  I  hear  a  step  on  the  stairs,"  said  Mrs.  Howland. 
"That  is  Mr.  Martin.  Now,  you  will  restrain  yourself  for 
my  sake." 

There  was  a  step  on  the  stairs — firm,  solid,  heavy.     The 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  83 

drawing-room  door  was  opened  about  an  inch,  but  no  one 
came  in. 

Mrs.  Howland  said  in  a  low  whisper  to  her  daughter,  "  He 
doesn't  know  you  have  returned;  he  is  very  playful.  Just 
stay  quiet.  He  really  is  a  most  amusing  person." 

"  Bo-peep!  "  said  a  voice  at  the  door;  and  a  round,  shining, 
bald  head  was  popped  in  and  then  disappeared. 

"  Bo-peep!  "  said  Mrs.  Howland  in  response. 

She  stood  up,  and  there  came  over  her  faded  face  a  waggish 
expression.  She  held  up  her  finger  and  shook  it  playfully. 
The  bald  head  appeared  again,  followed  immediately  by  a 
very  round  body.  The  playful  finger  continued  to  waggle. 

"  Ducksie  dear!  "  said  Mr.  Martin,  and  he  clasped  Mrs.  How- 
land  in  his  arms. 

Maggie  gave  a  smothered  groan. 

"  It's  the  child,"  said  Mrs.  Howland  in  a  whisper.  "  She  is 
a  bit  upset;  but  when  she  knows  you,  James,  she'll  love  you 
as  much  as  I  do." 

"  Hope  so,"  said  Mr.  Martin.  "  I'm  a  duckle,  Little-sing; 
ain't  I,  Victoria?  "  Here  he  chuckled  the  good  lady  under  the 
chin.  "Ah,  and  so  this  is  Maggie? — How  do,  my  dear?  How 
do,  Popsy-wopsy?" 

"  How  do  you  do?  "  said  Maggie. 

"  Gome,  come,"  said  Mr.  Martin.  "  No  flights  and  vapors, 
no  fine  airs,  no  affected,  mincing  ways.  A  little  girl  should 
love  her  new  parent.  A  little  girl  should  kiss  her  new  parent." 

"  I  won't  kiss  you,  Mr.  Martin,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Oh,  come,  come — shy,  is  she?  Let  me  tell  you,  Popsy- 
wopsy,  that  every  man  wouldn't  want  to  kiss  you. — She  is 
not  a  bit  like  you,  my  dear  Victoria.  Wherever  did  she  get 
that  queer  little  face?  She  is  no  beauty,  and  that  I  will  say. — 
Now,  your  mother,  Popsy,  is  a  most  elegant  woman;  any  one 
can  see  that  she  is  a  born  aristocrat;  but  I  hate  'em,  my  dear 
— hate  'em!  I  am  one  of  those  who  vote  for  the  abolition  of 
the  House  of  Lords.  Give  me  the  Commons;  no  bloated  Lords 
for  me.  Well,  you're  a  bit  took  aback,  ain't  you?  Your 
mother  and  me — we  settled  things  up  very  tidy  while  you 
were  sporting  in  the  country.  I  like  you  all  the  better,  my 
dear,  for  being  plain.  I  don't  want  no  beauties  except  my 
beloved  Victoria.  She's  the  woman  for  me. — Ain't  you,  my 
Little-sing?  Eh  dear!  Eh  dear!  It's  we  three  who'll  have 
the  fun. — I'll  take  you  right  into  my  heart,  Popsy-wopsy,  and 
snug  and  comfortable  yqu'll  find  yourself  there." 

Poor  Maggie!  The  overwhelming  contrast  between  this 
scene  and  the  scenes  of  yesterday!  The  awful  fact  that  her 
mother  was  going  to  marry  such  a  being  as  Mr.  Martin  over- 
powered her  with  such  a  sense  of  horror  that  for  the  time  she 
felt  quite  dumb  and  stupid. 

Mr.  Martin,  however,  was  in  a  radiant  humor.  "  Now  then, 
Little-sing,"  he  said,  addressing  Mrs.  Howland,  "  where's  the 
tea?  Poor  Bo-peep  wants  his  tea.  He's  hungry  and  he's 
thirsty,  is  Bo-peep.  Little-sing  will  pour  out  Bo-peep's  tea 


84  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

with  her  own  pretty,  elegant  hands,  and  butter  his  muffins 
for  him,  and  Cross-patch  in  the  corner  can  keep  herself  quiet." 

"  May  I  go  into  our  bedroom,  mother?  "  said  Maggie  at  that 
juncture. 

"  No,  miss,  you  may  not,"  said  Martin,  suddenly  rousing 
himself  from  a  very  comfortable  position  in  the  only  easy- 
chair  the  room  afforded.  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you, 
and  when  I  have  said  it  you  may  do  what  you  please." 

"  Stay  quiet,  dear  Maggie,  for  the  present,"  said  Mrs.  How- 
land. 

The  poor  woman  felt  a  queer  sense  of  shame.  Bo-peep  and 
Little-sing  had  quite  an  agreeable  time  together  when  they 
were  alone.  She  did  not  mind  the  boisterous  attentions  of  her 
present  swain;  but  with  Maggie  by  there  seemed  to  be  a  dif- 
ference. Maggie  made  her  ashamed  of  herself. 

Maggie  walked  to  the  window,  and,  taking  a  low  chair,  sat 
down.  Her  heart  was  beating  heavily.  There  was  such  a 
misery  within  her  that  she  could  scarcely  contain  herself. 
Could  anything  be  done  to  rescue  her  mother  from  such  a 
marriage?  She  was  a  very  clever  girl;  but,  clever  as  she  was, 
she  could  see  no  way  out. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Martin  drank  his  tea  with  huge  gulps,  ate 
a  quantity  of  muffins,  pooh-poohed  the  gooseberries  as  not 
worth  his  attention,  and  then  said,  "  Now,  Victoria,  my  dear- 
est dear,  I  am  ready  to  propound  my  scheme  to  your  offspring. 
— Come  forward,  Popsy-wopsy,  and  listen  to  what  new  pa  in- 
tends to  do  for  you." 

Maggie  rose,  feeling  that  her  limbs  were  turned  to  ice.  She 
crossed  the  room  and  stood  before  Mr.  Martin. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

"  None  of  those  airs,  Popsy." 

"  I  want  to  know  what  you  mean  to  do,"  said  Maggie,  strug- 
gling hard  to  keep  her  temper. 

"  Well,  missie  miss,  poor  Bo-peep  means  to  marry  your 
good  ma,  and  he  wants  a  nice  ittle  dirl  to  come  and  live 
with  ma  and  pa  at  Clapham;  pretty  house,  solid  furniture, 
garden  stocked  with  fruit-trees,  a  swing  for  good  'ittle  dirl, 
a  nice  room  for  dear  Popsy  to  sleep  in,  no  more  lessons,  no 
more  fuss,  no  more  POVERTY!  That's  what  new  pa  proposes 
to  ma's  'ittle  dirl.  What  does  'ittle  dirl  say?  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room.  Mrs.  Howland  looked 
with  wild  apprehension  at  her  daughter.  Mr.  Martin  had, 
however,  still  a  jovial  and  smiling  face. 

"Down  on  its  knees  ought  Popsy-wopsy  to  go,"  he  said. 
'  Tears  might  come  in  Popsy-wopsy's  eyes,  and  the  'ittle  dirl 
might  say,  "  Dearest  pa  that  is  to  be,  I  love  you  with  all 
my  heart,  and  I  am  glad  that  you're  going  to  marry  ma  and 
to  take  me  from  horrid  school.' " 

But  there  was  no  sign  on  the  part  of  Maggie  Howland  of 
fulfilling  these  expectations  on  the  part  of  the  new  pa.  On 
the  contrary,  she  stood  upright,  and  then  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"  This  has  been  a  very  great  shock  to  me." 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  85 

"Shock!"  cried  Martin.  "What  do  you  mean  by  that, 
miss?" 

"I  must  speak,"  said  Maggie.  "You  must  let  me,  sir; 
and,  mother,  you  must  let  me.  It  is  for  the  last  time. 
Quite  the  last  time.  I  will  never  be  here  to  offend  you  any 
more." 

"  Ton  my  word ! "  said  Martin,  springing  to  his  feet,  and  his 
red,  good-humored  face  growing  crimson.  "  There's  grati- 
tude for  you!  There's  manners  for  you! — Ma,  how  ever  did 
you  bring  her  up?  " 

"  Let  me  speak,"  said  Maggie.  "  I  am  sorry  to  hurt  your 
feelings,  sir.  You  are  engaged  to  my  mother." 

"  Ea-ther! "  said  Mr.  Martin.  "  My  pretty  birdling  hopped,  so 
to  speak,  into  my  arms.  No  difficulties  with  her;  no  drawing 
back  on  the  part  of  Little-sing.  She  wanted  her  Bo-peep, 
and  she — well,  her  Bo-peep  wanted  her." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Maggie.  "  I  am  exceedingly  sorry — bitterly 
sorry — that  my  mother  is  going  to  marry  again;  but  as  she 
cares  for  you  "• 

"  Which  I  do! "  said  Mrs.  Howland,  who  was  now  reduced 
to  tears. 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say,"  continued  Maggie,  "  except 
that  I  hope  she  will  be  happy.  But  I,  sir,  am  my  father's 
daughter  as  well  as  my  mother's,  and  I  cannot  for  a  single 
moment  accept  your  offer.  It  is  impossible.  I  must  go  on 
with  my  own  education  as  best  I  can." 

"Then  you  re-fuse,"  said  Martin,  "to  join  your  mother 
and  me?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Maggie,  "  I  refuse." 

"  Has  she  anything  to  live  on,  ma?"  asked  Mr.  Martin. 

"  Oh,  dear  James,"  said  Mrs.  Howland,  "  don't  take  all  the 
poor  child  says  in  earnest  now!  She'll  be  down  on  her  knees 
to  you  to-morrow.  I  know  she  will.  Leave  her  to  me,  James 
dear,  and  I'll  manage  her." 

"  You  can  manage  most  things,  Little-sing,"  said  Mr.  Martin; 
"but  I  don't  know  that  I  want  that  insolent  piece.  She  is 
very  different  from  you.  If  she  is  to  be  about  our  pleasant, 
cheerful  home  snubbing  me  and  putting  on  airs — why,  I'll 
have  none  of  it.  Let  her  go,  Victoria,  I  say — let  her  go  if  she 
wants  to;  but  if  she  comes  to  me  she  must  come  in  a  cheer- 
ful spirit,  and  joke  with  me,  and  take  my  fun,  and  be  as 
agreeable  as  you  are  yourself,  Little-sing." 

"  Well,  at  least,"  said  Mrs.  Howland,  "  give  us  till  to- 
morrow. The  child  is  surprised;  she  will -be  different  to- 
morrow." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Mr.  Martin;  "  but  if  there's  any  philander- 
ing, or  falling  back,  or  if  there's  any  on-gratitude,  Til  have 
naught  to  do  with  her.  I  only  take  her  to  oblige  you,  Vic- 
toria." 

"  You  had  best  leave  us  now,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Howland. 
"  I  will  talk  to  Maggie,  and  let  you  know." 

Mr.  Martin  sat  quite  still  for  a  minute.    Then  he  rose,  took 


86  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

not  the  slightest  notice  of  Maggie,  but,  motioning  Mrs.  How- 
land  to  follow  him,  performed  a  sort  of  cake-walk  out  of 
the  room. 

When  he  reached  the  door  and  had  said  good-bye,  he 
opened  it  again  and  said,  "Bo-peep!"  pushing  a  little  bit  of 
his  bald  head  in,  and  then  withdrawing  it,  while  Mrs.  Howland 
pretended  to  admire  his  antics. 

At  last  he  was  gone;  but  by  this  time  Maggie  had  vanished 
into  the  bedroom.  She  had  flung  herself  on  her  knees  by 
the  bed,  and  pushed  her  handkerchief  against  her  mouth  to 
stifle  the  sound  of  her  sobs.  Mrs.  Howland  gently  opened  the 
door,  looked  at  her  daughter,  and  then  shut  it  again.  She 
felt  thoroughly  afraid  of  Maggie. 

An  hour  or  two  later  a  pale,  subdued-looking  girl  came  out 
of  the  bedroom  and  sat  down  by  her  mother. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Howland,  "  he  is  very  pleasant  and  cheer- 
ful, isn't  he?  " 

"Mother,  he  is  horrible!" 

"  Maggie,  you  have  no  right  to  say  those  things  to  me. 
I  want  a  good  husband  to  take  care  of  me.  I  am  very  lonely, 
and  no  one  appreciates  me." 

"Oh  mother!"  said  poor  Maggie — "my  father!" 

"  He  was  a  very  good  man,"  said  Mrs.  Howland  restlessly; 
"  but  he  was  above  me,  somehow,  and  I  never,  never  could 
reach  up  to  his  heights." 

"And  you  really  tell  me,  his  child,  that  you  prefer  that 
person?  " 

"  I  think  I  shall  be  quite  happy  with  him,"  said  Mrs.  How- 
land.  "  I  really  do.  He  is  awfully  kind,  and  his  funny  little 
ways  amuse  me." 

"Oh  mother!" 

"  You  will  be  good  about  it,  Maggie;  won't  you?"  said  Mrs. 
Howland.  "  You  won't  destroy  your  poor  mother's  happiness? 
I  have  had  such  lonely  years,  and  such  a  struggle  to  keep  my 
head  above  water;  and  now  that  good  man  comes  along  and 
offers  me  a  home  and  every  comfort.  I  am  not  young,  dear; 
I  am  five-and-forty;  and  there  is  nothing  before  me  if  I  refuse 
Mr.  Martin  but  an  old  age  of  great  poverty  and  terrible  loneli- 
ness. You  won't  stand  in  my  way,  Maggie?  " 

"I  can't,  mother;  though  it  gives  me  agony  to  think  of 
your  marrying  him." 

"But  you'll  get  quite  accustomed  to  it  after  a  little;  and 
he  is  really  very  funny,  I  can  assure  you;  he  puts  me  into 
fits  of  laughter.  You  will  get  accustomed  to  him,  darling; 
you  will  come  and  live  with  your  new  father  and  me  at  La- 
burnum Villa?" 

"  Mother,  you  must  know  that  I  never  will." 

"But  what  are  you  to  do,  Maggie?  You've  got  no  money 
at  all." 

"  Oh  mother!  "  said  poor  Maggie,  "  it  costs  very  little  to  keep 
me  at  Aylmer  House;  you  know  that  quite,  quite  well.  Please 
do  let  me  go  on  with  my  education.  Afterwards  I  can  earn 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  87 

my  living  as  a  teacher  or  in  some  profession,  for  I  have  plenty 
of  talent.  I  take  after  father  in  that." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  I  always  was  a  fool,"  said  Mrs.  Howland; 
"  but  I  have  a  way  with  people  for  all  that." 

"  Mother,  you  have  a  great  deal  that  is  quite  sweet  about 
you,  and  you're  throwing  yourself  away  on  that  awful  man! 
Can't  we  go  on  as  we  did  for  a  year  or  two,  you  living  here, 
and  I  coming  to  you  in  the  holidays?  Then,  as  soon  as  ever 
I  get  a  good  post  I  shall  be  able  to  help  you  splendidly.  Can't 
you  do  it,  mother?  This  whole  thing  seems  so  dreadful 
to  me." 

"  No,  I  can't,  and  won't,"  said  Mrs.  Howland  in  a  decided 
voice.  "  I  am  exceedingly  fond  of  my  Bo-peep — as  I  call  him 
— and  greatly  enjoy  the  prospect  of  being  his  wife.  Oh 
Maggie,  you  have  not  returned  to  be  a  thorn  in  our  sides? 
You  will  submit?  " 

"Never,  never,  never!"  said  Maggie. 

"Then  I  don't  know  what  you  are  to  do;  for  your  new 
father  insists  on  my  keeping  the  very  little  money  I  have 
for  my  own  personal  use,  and  if  you  refuse  to  conform  to  his 
wishes  he  will  not  allow  me  to  spend  a  farthing  of  it  on  you. 
You  can't  live  on  nothing  at  all." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Maggie.  "  I  don't  know  quite  what  to  do. 
Are  you  going  to  be  so  very  cruel  as  to  take  away  the  little 
money  \ou  have  hitherto  spent  on  me?" 

''  I  must,  dear;  in  fact,  it  is  done  already.  Mr.  Martin  has 
invested  it  in  the  grocery  business.  He  already  provides  for 
all  my  wants,  and  we  are  to  be  married  in  a  fortnight.  I  have 
nothing  whatever  to  spend  on  you." 

"  Well,  mother,  we'll  say  no  more  to-night.  I  have  a  head- 
ache, but  I'll  sleep  on  the  sofa  here;  it's  less  hot  than  the 
bedroom." 

"  Won't  you  sleep  with  your  poor  old  mother?  " 

"  No,  I  can't,  really.     Oh,  how  dreadfully  hot  this  place  is!  " 

"  You  are  spoilt  by  your  fine  life,  Maggie;  but  I  grant  that 
these  lodgings  are  hot.  The  house  at  Glapham,  however,  is 
very  cool  and  fresh.  Oh  Maggie!  my  dear  Bo-peep  is  getting 
such  a  sweet  little  bedroom  ready  for  you.  I  could  cry  when 
I  think  of  your  cross  obstinacy." 

But  even  the  thought  of  the  sweet  little  bedroom  didn't 
move  Maggie  Howland.  Tildy  presently  brought  up  a  meagre 
supper,  of  which  the  mother  and  daughter  partook  almost  in 
silence.  Then  Mrs.  Howland  went  to  her  room,  where  she 
fell  fast  asleep,  and  Maggie  had  the  drawing-room  to  herself. 
She  had  arranged  a  sort  of  extempore  bed  on  the  hard  sofa, 
and  was  about  to  lie  down,  when  Tildy  opened  the  door. 

"  I  say,"  said  Tildy,  "  ain't  he  cunnin'?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Matilda?  "  said  Maggie. 

"  Oh  my,"  said  Tildy,  "  wot  a  'arsh  word!  Does  you  know, 
missie,  that  he's  arsked  me  to  go  down  to  Clap'am  presently 
to  'elp  wait  on  your  ma?  If  you're  there,  miss,  it'll  be  the 
'eight  of  'appiness  to  me." 


88  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  I  may  as  well  say  at  once,  Matilda,  that  I  shall  not  be 
there." 

"  You  don't  like  'im,  then? "  said  Tildy,  backing  a  step. 
"  And  'e  is  so  enticin' — the  prettiest  ways  'e  'ave — at  least, 
that's  wot  me  and  Mrs.  Ross  thinks.  We  always  listen  on 
the  stairs  for  'im  to  greet  your  ma.  We  like  'im,  that  we  dp." 

"  I  have  an  old  dress  in  my  trunk,  Tildy,  which  I  will  give 
you.  You  can  manage  to  make  it  look  quite  nice  for  your 
new  post  as  parlor-maid  at  Laburnum  Villa.  But  now  go, 
please;  for  I  must  be  alone  to  think." 

Tildy  went.  She  crept  downstairs  to  the  kitchen  regions. 
There  she  met  Mrs.  Ross. 

"  The  blessed  young  lady's  full  of  ructions,"  said  Tildy. 

"  And  no  wonder,"  replied  Mrs.  Ross.  "  She's  a  step  above 
Martin,  and  Martin  knows  it." 

"  I  'ope  as  she  won't  refuse  to  jine  us  at  Laburnum  Villa," 
said  Tildy. 

"  There's  no  sayin'  wot  a  spirited  gel  like  that'll  do,"  said 
Mrs.  Ross;  "but  ef  she  do  go  down,  Martin  '11  be  a  match 
for  'er." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  Tildy.  "  She  'ave  a 
strong,  determined  w'y  about  'er,  has  our  Miss  Maggie." 

If  Mrs.  Howland  slept  profoundly,  poor  Maggie  could  not 
close  her  eyes.  She  suddenly  found  herself  surrounded  by 
calamity.  The  comparatively  small  trials  which  she  had 
thought  big  enough  in  connection  with  Aylmer  House  and 
Cicely  and  Merry  Cardew  completely  disappeared  before  this 
great  trouble  which  now  faced  her.  Her  mother's  income 
amounted  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  out  of 
that  meagre  sum  the  pair  had  contrived  to  .live,  and,  owing 
to  Mrs.  Ward's  generosity,  Maggie  had  been  educated.  But 
now  that  dreadful  Mr.  Martin-  had  secured  Mrs.  Howland's 
little  property,  and  the  only  condition  on  which  it  could  be 
spent  on  Maggie  was  that  she  should  accept  a  home  with  her 
future  stepfather.  This  nothing  whatever  would  induce  her 
to  do.  But  what  was  to  be  done? 

She  had  no  compunction  whatever  in  leaving  her  mother. 
They  had  never  been  really  friends,  for  the  girl  took  after 
her  father,  whom  her  mother  had  never  even  pretended  to 
understand.  Mrs.  Howland,  when  she  became  Mrs.  Martin, 
would  be  absolutely  happy  without  Maggie,  and  Maggie  knew 
well  that  she  would  be  equally  miserable  with  her.  On  the 
other  hand,  how  was  Maggie  to  live? 

Suddenly  it  flashed  across  her  mind  that  there  was  a  way 
out,  or  at  least  a  way  of  providing  sufficient  funds  for  the 
coming  term  at  Aylmer  House.  Her  mother  had,  after  all, 
some  sort  of  affection  for  her,  and  if  Maggie  made  her  request 
she  was  certain  it  would  not  be  refused.  She  meant  to  get 
her  mother  to  give  her  all  that  famous  collection  of  jewels 
which  her  father  had  collected  in  different  parts  of  the  world. 
In  especial,  the  bracelets  flashed  before  her  memory.  These 
could  be  sold,  and  would  produce  a  sum  which  might  keep 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  89 

Maggie  at  Aylmer  House,  perhaps  for  a  year — certainly  for 
the  approaching  term. 

CHAPTER    Xin. 

BREAKFAST  WITH   BO-PEEP. 

AFTER  Maggie's  restless  night  she  got  up  early.  The  day 
promised  to  be  even  hotter  than  the  one  before;  but  as  the 
drawing-room  faced  west  it  was  comparatively  cool  at  this 
hour. 

Tildy  brought  her  favorite  young  lady  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
suggested  that  she  should  go  for  an  outing  while  Tildy  herself 
freshened  up  the  room.  Maggie  thought  that  a  good  idea,  and 
when  she  found  herself  in  the  street  her  spirits  rose  a  trifle. 

A  curious  sort  of  fascination  drew  her  in  the  direction 
of  Martin's  shop.  It  was  a  very  large  corner  shop,  had  several 
entrances,  and  at  this  early  hour  the  young  shopmen  and 
shopwomen  were  busy  dressing  the  windows;  they  were  put- 
ting appetizing  sweetmeats  and  cakes  and  biscuits  and  all 
kinds  of  delectable  things  in  the  different  windows  to  tempt 
the  passers-by. 

Maggie  felt  a  hot  sense  of  burning  shame  rising  to  her 
cheeks  as  she  passed  the  shop.  She  was  about  to  turn  back, 
when  whom  should  she  see  standing  in  the  doorway  but  the 
prosperous  owner  himself!  He  recognized  her  immediately, 
and  called  out  to  her  in  his  full,  pompous  voice,  "  Come  along 
here,  Wopsy! " 

The  young  shop-people  turned  to  gaze  in  some  wonder  as 
the  refined-looking  girl  approached  the  fat,  loud-mannered 
man. 

"  I'm  in  a  hurry  back  to  breakfast  with  my  mother,"  said 
Maggie  in  her  coldest  voice. 

"Well,  then,  I  will  come  along  with  you,  my  dear;  I  am 
just  in  the  mood.  Little-sing,  she  will  give  me  breakfast 
this  morning.  I'll  be  back  again  in  the  shop  soon  after  nine. 
It's  a  fine  shop,  ain't  it,  Popsy?  " 

"  It  does  seem  large,"  said  Maggie. 

''  It's  the  sort  of  shop,"  responded  Martin,  "  that  takes  a 
deal  of  getting.  It's  not  done  in  a  day,  nor  a  month,  nor  a 
year.  It  takes  a  lifetime  to  build  up  premises  like  these.  It 
means  riches,  my  dear — riches."  He  rolled  out  the  words 
luxuriously. 

"  I  am  sure  it  does,"  said  Maggie,  who  felt  that  for  her  own 
sake  she  must  humor  him. 

'  You  think  so,  do  you?"  said  Martin,  giving  her  a  keen 
glance. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  replied  Maggie. 

Martin  gazed  at  her  from  head  to  foot.  She  was  plain.  He 
rather  liked  her  for  that.  He  admired  her,  top.  for,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  standing  up  to  him.  His  dear  Little-sing  would 
never  stand  up  to  him.  But  this  girl  was  not  the  least  like 
her  mother.  She  had  a  lot  of  character;  Little-sing  had  none. 
6k 


90  THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"You'd  make  an  admirable  accountant,  Popsy,"  he  said. 
"  How  would  you  like  to  take  that  post  by-and-by  in  my 
shop?  " 

Maggie  was  about  to  reply  that  nothing  would  induce  her 
to  accept  such  a  position,  when  a  quick  thought  darted  through 
her  mind.  She  could  scarcely  hope  to  make  anything  of  her 
mother,  for,  alack  and  alas!  Mrs.  Rowland  was  one  of  those 
weak  characters  who  slip  away  from  you  even  as  you  try  to 
grasp  them.  But  Martin,  with  his  terrible  vulgarity  and  awful 
pleasantry,  was  at  least  fairly  strong. 

"  Mr.  Martin,"  said  Maggie  then,  "  instead  of  going  in  to 
breakfast  with  mother,  will  you  take  me  to  some  restaurant 
and  give  me  a  good  meal,  and  let  me  talk  to  you?  " 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Martin,  chuckling,  "  you  are  a  girl!  You 
have  cheek!  I  am  not  a  man  to  waste  my  money,  and  break- 
fast with  Little-sing  won't  cost  me  anything." 

"  But  under  the  circumstances  you  will  waste  a  little  money 
in  order  to  oblige  me?"  said  Maggie. 

"  There  now,  I  admire  your  cheek.  So  be  it.  You  don't 
deserve  anything  from  me,  for  a  ruder  'ittle  dirl  than  you  were 
yesterday  to  poor  Bo-peep  could  not  have  been  found  in  the 
length  and  breadth  of  England." 

"  You  could  scarcely  expect  me  to  be  pleased,  sir.  The  news 
was  broken  to  me  very  suddenly,  and  I  was  tired  after  my 
long  journey,  too." 

"Yes;  and  you  vented  your  spite  on  me,  on  poor  old  Bo- 
peep,  who  has  the  kindest  heart  in  Christendom." 

"  I  may  have  said  some  things  that  I  regret,"  said  Maggie; 
**  but,  at  any  rate,  I  had  the  night  to  think  matters  over,  and 
if  you  give  me  some  breakfast  I  can  talk  to  you." 

"  I  will  take  you  to  Harrison's  for  breakfast,"  said  Martin. 
"  You'll  get  a  topper  there,  I  can  tell  you — eggs,  bacon,  kid- 
neys, liver,  game-pie,  cocoa,  coffee,  tea,  chocolate;  anything 
and  everything  you  fancy,  and  the  best  marmalade  in  Lon- 
don." 

Maggie  felt  rather  hungry,  and  when  the  pair  entered 
Harrison's  she  was  not  displeased  at  the  liberal  supply  of 
food  which  her  future  stepfather  ordered.  He  pretended  to 
hate  the  aristocracy,  as  he  called  them,  and  poor  Maggie  could 
certainly  never  claim  this  distinction  in  her  own  little  person. 
Nevertheless,  she  was  entirely  superior  to  Martin,  and  he  felt 
a  sort  of  pride  in  her  as  she  walked  up  the  long  restaurant 
by  his  side. 

"  Now,  waiter,"  he  said  to  the  man  who  approached  to  take 
orders,  "  you  look  slippy.  This  young  'oman  and  me,  we  want 
a  real  comfortable,  all-round,  filling  meal.  You  give  us  the 
best  the  house  contains;  and  look  slippy,  I  say." 

The  waiter  did  look  "  slippy,"  whatever  that  word  might 
imply,  and  Martin  proceeded  to  treat  Maggie  to  really  excellent 
viands  and  to  satisfy  himself  to  his  heart's  content.  Maggie 
ate  with  a  certain  amount  of  relish,  for,  as  has  been  said, 
she  was  really  hungry. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  91 

"Like  it,  don't  you?"  said  Martin  as  he  watched  her  con- 
suming her  eggs  and  bacon. 

"  Oh  yes,  very  much  indeed,"  said  Maggie. 

"  I'm  fond  of  a  good  table  myself,"  said  Martin.  "  This  is 
the  sort  of  thing  you'll  have  on  all  occasions  and  at  every  meal 
at  Laburnum  Villa.  We'll  soon  fill  your  poor  mother's  thin 
cheeks  out,  and  get  her  rosy  and  plump,  and  then  she'll  be  a 
more  charming  Little-sing  to  her  own  Bo-peep  than  ever." 

Maggie  was  silent. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Martin,  patting  her  hand;  "  it's  all  right 
about  Laburnum  Villa,  ain't  it,  my  girl?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Martin,"  said  Maggie  then. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  and  turned  and  looked  at  him 
fixedly.    "  I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  myself,"  she  said.    ' 
was  really  rude  to  you  yesterday,  and  I  am  sorry;  but  I 
couldn't  go  to  live  with  you  and  mother  at  Laburnum  Villa. 
I  will  tell  you  the  principal  reason  why  I  couldn't  go." 

"  Oh,  come,  come,  you're  only  a  child;  you  must  do  what 
you  are  told.  Your  mother  has  no  money  to  give  you,  and  you 
can't  live  on  air,  you  know.  Air  is  all  very  well,  but  it  don't 
keep  folks  alive.  You'll  have  to  come  to  me  whether  you 
like  it  or  not." 

"  Before  you  come  to  that  determination,  Mr.  Martin,  may 
I  tell  you  something  about  myself?  " 

"  Oh  dear!  I  hope  it  isn't  a  long  story." 

"  It's  very  important,  and  not  very  long.  I  am  not  the  least 
like  mother  " 

"  My  good  girl,  any  one  can  see  that.  Your  mother's  a 
remarkably  pretty  and  elegant  woman,  and  you're  the  plainest 
young  person  I  ever  came  across." 

"I  am  plain,"  said  Maggie;  "and,  in  addition,  I  am  by  no 
means  good-natured." 

"  Oh,  you  admit  that?    For  shame! " 

"  I  was  born  that  way,"  said  Maggie.  "  I'm  a  very  high- 
spirited  girl,  and  I  have  got  ideas  with  regard  to  my  future. 
You  said  just  now  that  perhaps  some  day  you  might  make 
me  accountant  in  your  shop.  That  was  kind  of  you,  and  I 
might  be  a  good  accountant;  but,  of  course,  all  that  is  for  the 
future.  I  shouldn't  mind  that — I  mean,  not  particularly.  But 
if  you  were  to  follow  out  your  plan,  and  take  me  to  live  with 
you  and  mother  at  Laburnum  Villa,  you  would  never  have  a 
happy  moment;  for,  you  see,  I  am  much  stronger  in  character 
than  mother,  and  I  couldn't  help  making  your  life  miserable; 
whereas  you  and  mother  would  be  awfully  happy  without  me. 
Mother  says  that  she  loves  you,  and  wishes  to  be  your  wife  " — 

"  Now,  what  are  you  driving  at,  Popsy?  For  if  you  have 
nothing  hanging  on  your  hands  I  have  a  vast  lot  hanging  on 
mine,  and  time  is  precious." 

"  I  will  tell  you  quite  frankly  what  I  want  you  to  do,  Mr. 
Martin.  You  are  taking  mother." 

"  I  am  willing  to  take  you  too.    I  can't  do  any  more." 

"  But  then,  you  see,  I  don't  want  to  be  taken.'    Until  you 


92  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

came  forward  and  proposed  to  mother  to  be  your  wife  she 
spent  a  little  of  her  money  on  my  education.  She  tells  me  that 
she  has  put  it  now  into  your  business." 

"  Poor  thing!  "  said  Martin.  "  She  was  making  ducks  and 
drakes  of  it;  but  it  is  safe  enough  now." 

"Yes,"  said  Maggie  in  a  determined  voice;  "but  I  think, 
somehow,  that  a  part  of  it  does  lawfully  belong  to  me." 

"Oh,  come!  tut,  tut!" 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Maggie  in  a  resolute  tone;  "  for,  you  see, 
it  was  father's  money;  and  though  he  left  it  absolutely  to 
mother,  it  was  to  go  to  me  at  her  death,  and  it  was  meant, 
little  as  it  was,  to  help  to  educate  me.  I  could  ask  a  lawyer 
all  about  the  rights,  of  course." 

For  some  extraordinary  reason  Martin  looked  rather  fright- 
ened. 

"You  can  go  to  any  lawyer  you  please,"  he  said;  "  but  what 
for?  let  me  ask.  If  I  take  you,  and  do  for  you,  and  provide 
for  you,  what  has  a  lawyer  to  say  in  the  matter?" 

"  Well,  that  is  just  it— that's  just  what  I  have  to  inquire 
into;  because,  you  see,  Mr.  Martin,  I  don't  want  you  to  pro- 
vide for  me  at  all." 

"  I  think  now  we  are  coming  to  the  point,"  said  Martin. 
"  Stick  to  it,  Popsy,  for  time's  precious. 

"I  think  you  ought  to  allow  me  to  be  educated  out  of 
mother's  money." 

"  Highty-tighty!    I'm  sure  you  know  enough." 

"  I  don't  really  know  enough.  Mrs.  Ward,  of  Aylmer  House, 
has  taken  me  as  an  inmate  of  her  school  for  forty  pounds  a 
year.  Her  terms  for  most  girls  are  a  great  deal  more." 

Martin  looked  with  great  earnestness  at  Maggie. 

"  I  want  to  go  on  being  Mrs.  Ward's  pupil,  and  I  want  you  to 
allow  me  forty  pounds  a  year  for  the  purpose,  and  twenty 
over  for  my  clothes  and  small  expenses — that  is,  sixty  pounds 
a  year  altogether.  I  shall  be  thoroughly  educated  then,  and  it 
seems  only  fair  that,  out  of  mother's  hundred  and  fifty  a  year, 
sixty  pounds  of  the  money  should  be  spent  on  me.  There's 
no  use  talking  to  mother,  for  she  gets  so  easily  puzzled  about 
money;  but  you  have  a  very  good  business  head.  You  see, 
Mr.  Martin,  I  am  only  just  sixteen,  and  if  I  get  two  more  years' 
education,  I  shall  be  worth  something  in  the  world,  whereas 
now  I  am  worth  nothing.  I  hope  you  will  think  it  over,  Mr. 
Martin,  and  do  what  I  wish." 

Martin  was  quite  silent  for  a  minute.  The  waiter  came 
along  and  was  paid  his  bill,  with  a  very  substantial  tip  for 
himself  thrown  in.  Still  Martin  lingered  at  the  breakfast- 
table  with  his  eyes  lowered. 

"  There's  one  thing— and  one  thing  only — I  like  about  this. 
Popsy-wopsy,"  he  said. 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  Maggie. 

"  That  you  came  to  me  on  the  matter  instead  of  going  to 
your  mother;  that  you  recognized  the  strength  and  force  of 
my  character." 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  93 

"  Oh,  any  one  can  see  that,"  said  Maggie. 

"  You  put  it  straight,  too,  with  regard  to  your  own  dis- 
agreeable nature." 

"  Yes,  I  put  it  straight,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Well,  all  I  can  say  at  present  is  this :  I  will  think  it  over. 
You  go  home  to  your  mother  now,  and  tell  her  that  her  Bo- 
peep  will  be  in  as  usual  to  tea;  and  you,  little  girl,  may  as  well 
make  yourself  scarce  at  that  hour.  Here's  a  sovereign  for 
you.  Go  and  have  a  jolly  time  somewhere." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Martin,  I "-    —  began  Maggie,  her  face  crimson. 

"You  had  best  not  put  on  airs,"  said  Martin;  and  Maggie 
slipped  the  sovereign  into  her  pocket. 

When  she  reached  her  mother's  lodgings  she  felt  well  as- 
sured that  she  had  done  the  right  thing.  Hitherto  she  had 
been  too  stunned  and  miserable  to  use  any  of  her  power — that 
strange  power  which  she  possessed — on  Mr.  Martin.  But  she 
felt  well  assured  that  she  could  do  so  in  the  future.  She 
had  gauged  his  chara«ter  correctly.  He  was  hopelessly  vulgar, 
but  an  absolutely  good-natured  and  straight  person. 

"He  will  do  what  I  wish,"  she  thought.  Her  uneasiness 
vanished  as  soon  as  the  first  shock  of  her  mother's  disclosure 
was  over.  She  entered  the  house. 

"Why,  missie?  "  said  Tildy,  "w'erehever  'ave  you  been? 
The  breakfast's  stony  cold  upstairs,  and  Mrs.  'Owland's  cryin' 
like  nothin'  at  all." 

"  Thank  you,  Tildy;  I'll  see  mother  immediately,"  said  Mag- 
gie. "  And  I  don't  want  any  breakfast,  for  I've  had  it  already." 

"  With  the  haristocracy?  "  asked  Tildy  in  a  low,  awed  kind 
of  voice.  "  You  always  was  one  o'  they,  Miss  Maggie." 

"  No,  not  with  the  aristocracy,"  said  Maggie,  trying  to  sup- 
press her  feelings.  "  Tildy,  your  smut  is  on  your  left  cheek 
this  morning.  You  can  remove  the  breakfast-things,  and  I'll 
go  up  to  mother." 

Maggie  ran  upstairs.  Mrs.  Rowland  had  eaten  a  little,  very 
indifferent  breakfast,  and  was  looking  weepy  and  washed- 
out  as  she  sat  in  her  faded  dressing-gown  near  the  open 
window. 

"Really,  Maggie,"  she  said  when  her  daughter  entered, 
"your  ways  frighten  me  most  terribly!  I  do  wish  poor  Mr. 
Martin  would  insist  on  your  coming  to  live  with  us.  I  shall 
never  have  an  easy  moment  with  your  queer  pranks  and 
goings-on." 

"  I  am  sure  you  won't,  dear  mother,"  said  Maggie.  "  But 
come,  don't  be  cross  with  me.  Here's  Matilda;  she'll  clear 
away  the  breakfast-things  in  no  time,  and  then  I  have  some- 
thing I  want  to  say  to  you." 

"Oh  dear!  my  head  is  so  weak  this  morning,"  said  Mrs. 
Howl  and. 

"  If  I  were  you,  Miss  Maggie,"  said  Tildy  as  she  swept  the 
cups  and  saucers  with  noisy  vehemence  on  to  a  tray,  "  I 
wouldn't  worrit  the  poor  mistress,  and  she  just  on  the  eve  of 
a  matrimonial  venture.  It's  tryin'  to  the  nerves,  it  is;  so 


94  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Mrs.  Ross  tells  me.  Says  she,  "When  I  married  Tom,"  says 
she,  "  I  was  on  the  twitter  for  a  good  month."  It's  awful  to 
think  as  your  poor  ma's  so  near  the  brink — for  that's  'ow  Mrs. 
Ross  speaks  o'  matrimony." 

"  Please  be  quick,  Tildy,  and  go,"  said  Maggie  in  a  de- 
termined voice. 

Matilda  cleared  the  table,  but  before  she  would  take  her 
departure  she  required  definite  instructions  with  regard  to 
dinner,  tea,  and  supper. 

Mrs.  Rowland  raised  a  distracted  face.  "  Really,  I  can't 
think,"  she  said,  "  my  head  is  so  weak." 

"  Well,  mum,"  said  Matilda,  "  s'pose  as  missus  and  me  does 
the  'ousekeepin'  for  you  to-day.  You  ain't  fit,  mum;  it's  but 
to  look  at  you  to  know  that.  It's  lyin'  down  you  ought  to  be, 
with  haromatic  vinegar  on  your  'ead." 

"  You're  quite  right,  Matilda.  Well,  you  see  to  the  things 
to-day.  Have  them  choice,  but  not  too  choice;  fairly  expen- 
sive, but  not  too  expensive,  you  understand." 

"  Yus,  'um,"  said  Tildy,  and  left  the  room. 

Maggie  found  herself  alone  with  her  mother.  "  Mother," 
she  said  eagerly,  "  now  I  will  tell  you  why  I  was  not  home 
for  breakfast  this  morning." 

"Oh,  it  doesn't  matter,  Maggie,"  said  Mrs.  Rowland;  "I 
am  too  weak  to 'be  worried,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"  It  won't  worry  you,  mother.  I  breakfasted  with  Mr.  Mar- 
tin." 

"What — what!"  said  Mrs.  Rowland,  astonishment  in  her 
voice,  and  with  eyebrows  raised  almost  to  meet  her  hair. 

"  And  an  excellent  breakfast  we  had,"  said  Maggie.  "  He 
isn't  a  bad  sort  at  all,  mother." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  you've  found  that  out.  Do  you  sup- 
pose your  mother  would  marry  a  man  who  was  not  most  es- 
timable in  character?  " 

"  He  is  quite  estimable,  mother;  the  only  unfortunate  thing 
against  him  is  that  he  is  not  in  your  rank  in  life." 

"  A  woman  who  lives  in  these  rooms,"  said  Mrs.  Rowland, 
"  has  no  rank  in  life." 

"  Well,  dear  mother,  I  cannot  agree  with  you.  However,  as 
I  said,  I  breakfasted  with  him." 

"  Then  you're  coming  round?  "  said  Mrs.  Rowland.  "  You're 
going  to  be  good,  and  a  comfort  to  us  both?" 

"  No,  mother,  I  haven't  come  round  a  bit.  When  I  was 
breakfasting  with  Mr.  Martin  I  fully  explained  to  him  what 
a  fearful  trial  I  should  be  to  him;  how,  day  by  day  and  hour 
by  hour,  I'd  annoy  him." 

"  You  did  that!    Oh  you  wicked  child!  " 

"  I  thought  it  best  to  be  frank,  mother.  I  made  an  impres- 
sion on  him.  I  did  what  I  did  as  much  for  your  sake  as 
for  mine." 

"  Then  he'll  break  off  the  engagement — of  course  he  will!  " 
said  Mrs.  Rowland.  She  took  a  moist  handkerchief  from  her 
pocket  and  pressed  it  to  her  eyes. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  95 

"Not  he.  He  is  just  devoted  to  you,  mother;  you  need 
have  no  such  apprehension." 

"What  else  did  you  say  to  him?" 

"  Well,  mother  darling,  I  said  what  I  thought  right." 

"  Oh,  of  course  you  won't  confide  in  me." 

"I  think  not.  I  will  let  him  do  that.  He  is  coming  to 
tea  this  afternoon,  and  he  has  given  me  a  sovereign" — how 
Maggie  felt  inclined  to  kick  that  sovereign  I — "  to  go  and  have 
some  pleasure  somewhere.  So  I  mean  to  take  the  train  to 
Richmond,  and  perhaps  get  a  boatman  to  take  me  out  on  the 
river  for  a  little." 

"  He  is  certainly  more  playful  and  amusing  when  you  are 
not  here,"  said  Mrs.  Howland,  a  faint  smile  dawning  on  her 
face. 

"  I  am  certain  of  that,"  said  Maggie;  "  and  what's  more,  he 
is  very  fond  of  good  living.  I  mean  to  go  out  presently  and 
get  some  excellent  things  for  his  tea." 

"  Will  you,  Maggie?  Will  you,  my  child?  Why,  that  will 
be  quite  sweet  of  you." 

"  I  will  do  it  with  pleasure,  mother.  But  now  I  want  you 
to  do  something  for  me." 

"  Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Howland,  "  I  thought  you  were  coming  to 
that." 

"  Well,  it  is  this,"  said  Maggie.  "  When  he  talks  to  you 
about  me,  don't  oppose  him.  He  will  most  probably  pro- 
pound a  scheme  to  you,  as  his  own  perhaps;  and  you  are  to 
be  quite  certain  to  let  him  think  that  it  is  his  own  scheme. 
And  you  might  make  out  to  him,  mother,  that  I  am  really  very 
disagreeable,  and  that  nothing  in  all  the  world  would  make 
me  anything  else.  And  if  you  are  a  very  wise  little  mother 
you  will  tell  him  that  you  are  happier  alone  with  him." 

"  Which  I  am — I  am,"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "  He  is  a  dear, 
quite  a  dear;  and  so  comical  and  amusing!  " 

"  Then  it's  all  right,"  said  Maggie.  "  You  know  I  told  you 
yesterday  that  nothing  would  induce  me  to  live  at  Laburnum 
Villa;  but  I  will  certainly  come  to  you,  mums,  in  the  holidays, 
if  you  wish  it." 

"  But,  dear  child,  there  is  no  money  to  keep  you  at  that 
expensive  school.  There  isn't  a  penny." 

"  Oh,  well,  well,  mother,  perhaps  that  can  be  managed.  But 
now  we  needn't  talk  any  more  about  my  future  until  after 
Mr.  Martin  has  had  tea  with  you  to-day.  If  you  have  any 
news  for  me  when  I  return  from  Richmond  you  can  let  me 
know." 

"  You  are  a  very  independent  girl  to  go  to  Richmond  by 
yourself." 

"  Oh,  that'll  be  all  right,"  said  Maggie  in  a  cheerful  tone. 

"Have  you  anything  else  to  say  to  me?" 

"  Yes.  You  know  all  that  beautiful  jewellery  that  my  dear 
father  brought  back  with  him  from  those  different  countries 
where  he  spent  his  life." 

Mrs.  Howland  looked  mysterious  and  frightened. 


96  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  It  was  meant  for  me  eventually,  was  it  not?  "  said  Maggie. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  so;  only,  somehow,  I  have  a  life- 
interest  in  it." 

"  You  won't  want  for  jewellery  when  you  are  Mr.  Martin's 
wife." 

"Indeed  no;  why,  he  has  given  me  a  diamond  ornament 
for  my  hair  already.  He  means  to  take  me  out  a  great  deal, 
he  says." 

"  Out! — oh  mother — in  his  setl  " 

"  Well,  dear  child,  I  shall  get  accustomed  to  that." 

"Don't  you  think  you  might  give  me  father's  jewellery?" 
said  Maggie. 

"  Is  it  worth  a  great  deal?"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "  I  never 
could  bear  to  look  at  it-^-that  is,  since  he  died." 

"You  haven't  given  it  to  Mr.  Martin,  have  you,  mother?" 

"  No,  nor  said  a  word  about  it  to  him  either." 

"  Well,  suppose,  now  that  we  have  a  quiet  time,  we  look  at 
the  jewellery?  said  Maggie. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  Then  she  added,  "  I  was 
half-tempted  to  sell  some  of  it;  but  your  father  was  so  queer, 
and  the"  things  seemed  so  very  ugly  and  unlike  what  is  worn, 
that  I  never  had  the  heart  to  part  with  them.  I  don't  sup- 
pose they'd  fetch  a  great  deal." 

"  Let's  look  at  them,"  said  Maggie. 

Mrs.  Howland  half-rose  from  her  chair,  then  sank  back 
again. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  am  afraid  of  them.  Your  father  told  me 
so  many  stories  about  each  and  all.  He  courted  death  to  get 
some  of  them,  and  others  came  into  his  hands  through  such 
extraordinary  adventures  that  I  shudder  at  night  when  I 
recall  what  he  said.  I  want  to  forget  them.  Mr.  Martin  would 
never  admire  them  at  all.  I  want  to  forget  all  my  past  life 
absolutely.  You're  like  your  father,  and  perhaps  you  admire 
that  sort  of  thing;  but  they  are  not  to  my  taste.  Here's  the 
key  of  my  wardrobe.  You  will  find  the  tin  boxes  which  hold 
the  jewels.  You  can  take  them;  only  never  let  out  a  word 
to  your  stepfather.  He  doesn't  know  I  posses  them — no  one 
does." 

'  Thank  you,  mother,"  said  Maggie  in  a  low  voice.  "  Will 
you  lie  down  on  the  sofa,  mums?  Oh,  here's  a  nice  new  novel 
for  you  to  read.  I  bought  it  coming  up  in  the  train  yesterday. 
You  read  and  rest  and  feel  quite  contented,  and  let  me  go  to 
the  bedroom  to  look  at  the  jewels." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Howland;  "you  can  have  them.  I 
consider  them  of  little  or  no  importance;  only  don't  tell  your 
stepfather" 

"  He  is  not  that  yet,  mums." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Howland;  "  what  does  a  fortnight 
matter?  He'll  be  your  stepfather  in  a  fortnight.  Yes,  take 
the  key  and  go.  I  shall  be  glad  to  rest  on  the  sofa.  You're 
in  a  much  more  reasonable  frame  of  mind  to-day." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  mother,"  said  Maggie. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  97 

She  entered  the  bedroom  and  closed  the  door  softly  behind 
her.  She  held  her  mother's  bunch  of  keys  in  her  hand.  First 
of  all  she  unlocked  the  wardrobe,  and  then,  removing  the  tin 
boxes,  laid  them  on  the  table  which  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  She  took  the  precaution  first,  however,  to  lock  the  bed- 
room door.  Having  done  this,  she  seated  herself  at  the  table, 
and,  selecting  the  proper  keys,  unlocked  the  two  tin  boxes. 
One  of  them  contained  the  twelve  famous  bracelets  which 
Maggie  had  described  to  Molly  and  Isabel  Tristram.  She 
would  keep  her  word :  she  would  give  a  bracelet  to  each  girl. 
She  recognized  at  once  the  two  which  she  considered  suitable 
for  the  girls,  and  then  examined  the  others  with  minute  care. 

Her  mother  could  not  admire  what  was  strange  in  pattern 
and  dimmed  by  neglect;  but  Maggie,  with  her  wider  knowl- 
edge, knew  well  that  she  possessed  great  treasures,  which,  if 
possible,  she  would  keep,  but  which,  if  necessary,  she  could 
sell  for  sums  of  money  which  would  enable  her  to  start  in  life 
according  to  her  own  ideas. 

She  put  the  twrelve  bracelets  back  into  their  case,  and  then, 
opening  the  second  tin  box,  took  from  it  many  quaint  curios, 
the  value  of  which  she  had  no  means  of  ascertaining.  There 
was  a  great  deal  of  gold  and  silver,  and  queer  beaten-work  in 
brass,  and  there  were  pendants  and  long  chains  and  brooches 
and  queer  ornaments  of  all  kinds. 

"Poor  father!"  thought  the  girl.  She  felt  a  lump  in  her 
throat — a  choking  sensation,  which  seemed  to  make  her 
mother's  present  conduct  all  the  more  intolerable.  How  was 
she  to  live  in  the  future  with  the  knowledge  that  her  father's 
memory  was,  as  she  felt,  profaned?  But  at  least  she  had  got 
his  treasures. 

She  relocked  the  two  tin  boxes,  and,  stowing  them  care- 
fully away  in  her  own  trunk,  transferred  the  keys  from  her 
mother's  bunch  to  her  own,  and  brought  her  mother's  keys 
back  to  Mrs.  Howland. 

"  Have  you  looked  at  them?  Are  they  worth  anything, 
Maggie?  " 

"  Memories  mostly,"  said  Maggie  evasively. 

"  Oh,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Howland,  "  I  am  glad  you  have  them; 
for  I  hate  memories." 

"  Mother,"  said  Maggie,  and  she  went  on  her  knees  to  her 
parent,  "you  have  really  given  them  to  me?" 

"Well,  of  course,  child.  Didn't  I  say  so?  I  don't  want 
them.  I  haven't  looked  at  the  things  for  years." 

"  I  wonder,  mums,  if  you  would  write  something  on  a  piece 
of  paper  for  me." 

"Oh  dear!  oh  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "Mr.  Martin 
doesn't  approve  of  what  he  calls  documents." 

"  Darling  mother,  you're  not  Mr.  Martin's  wife  yet.  I  want 
you  to  put  on  paper  that  you  have  given  me  father's  curios. 
He  always  meant  them  for  me,  didn't  he?  " 

"  He  did!  he  did!  "  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "  One  of  the  very 
last  things  he  said — in  his  letter,  I  mean,  for  you  know  he  died 


98  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

in  Africa — was :  '  The  treasures  I  am  sending  home  will  be 
appreciated  by  my  little  girl.'  " 

"Oh  mother!  yes,  and  they  are.  Please,  mother,  write 
something  on  this  bit  of  paper." 

"  My  head  is  so  weak.     I  haven't  an  idea  what  to  say." 

"  Til  dictate  it  to  you,  if  I  may." 

"Very  well,  child;  I  suppose  I  can't  prevent  you." 

Maggie  brought  paper,  blotting-pad,  and  pen,  and  Mrs.  How- 
land  presently  wrote :  "  I  have  given,  on  the  eve  of  my  mar- 
riage to  Mr.  Martin,  her  father's  treasures  to  my  daughter, 
Margaret  Howland." 

"  Thank  you,  mother,"  said  Maggie. 

The  date  was  affixed.  Mrs.  Howland  added  the  name  she 
was  so  soon  to  resign,  and  Maggie  almost  skipped  into  the 
bedroom. 

"  It's  all  right  now,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  unlocked  her  trunk,  also  unlocking  one  of  the  tin  boxes. 
In  the  box  which  contained  the  twelve  bracelets  she  put  the 
piece  of  paper  in  her  mother's  handwriting.  She  then  re- 
locked  the  box,  relocked  the  trunk,  and  came  back  to  her 
mother,  restored  to  perfect  good-humor. 

Maggie  was  in  her  element  when  she  was  planning  things. 
Yesterday  was  a  day  of  despair,  but  to-day  was  a  day  of  hope. 
She  sat  down  by  her  mother's  desk  and  wrote  a  long  letter  to 
Molly  Tristram,  in  which  she  told  Molly  that  her  mother  was 
about  to  be  married  again  to  a  very  rich  man.  She  mentioned 
the  coming  marriage  in  a  few  brief  words,  and  then  went  on 
to  speak  of  herself,  and  of  how  delightful  it  would  be  to 
welcome  Molly  and  Isabel  when  they  arrived  at  Aylmer  House. 
Not  by  the  faintest  suggestion  did  she  give  her  friend  to  under- 
stand the  step  down  in  the  social  scale  which  Mrs.  Howland's 
marriage  with  Mr.  Martin  meant. 

Having  finished  her  letter,  she  thought  for  a  minute,  then 
wrote  a  careful  line  to  Merry  Cardew.  She  did  not  tell  Merry 
about  her  mother's  approaching  marriage,  but  said  that  Molly 
would  have  news  for  her.  In  other  respects  her  letter  to 
Merry  was  very  much  more  confidential  than  her  letter  to 
Molly.  She  assured  Merry  of  her  deep  love,  and  begged  of  her 
friend  to  regard  this  letter  as  quite  private.  "  If  you  feel  you 
must  show  it  to  people,  tear  it  up  rather  than  do  so,"  said 
Maggie,  "  for  I  cannot  bear  that  our  great  and  sacred  love  each 
for  the  other  should  be  commented  on." 

When  Merry  received  the  letter  she  neither  showed  it  to 
any  one  else  nor  tore  it  up.  She  could  not  forget  Maggie's 
face  as  she  parted  from  her,  and  the  fact  that  she  had  refused 
to  accept  the  ten  pounds  which  the  little  girl  had  wanted  to 
give  her  in  order  to  remove  her  from  musty,  fusty  lodgings 
had  raised  Maggie  considerably  in  her  friend's  estimation. 

Meanwhile  Maggie  Howland,  having  finished  her  letters, 
went  out  and  posted  them.  She  then  changed  her  sovereign, 
and  bought  some  excellent  and  appetizing  fruit  and  cakes  for 
her  mother's  and  Mr.  Martin's  tea.  She  consulted  with  Tildy 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  99 

as  to  how  these  dainties  were  to  be  arranged,  and  Tildy  en- 
tered into  the  spirit  of  the  thing  with  effusion,  and  declared 
that  they  were  perfect  crowns  of  beauty,  and  that  most  assur- 
edly they  \yould  melt  in  Mr.  Martin's  mouth. 

On  hearing  this  Maggie  hastened  to  change  the  conversa- 
tion; but  when  she  had  impressed  upon  Tildy  the  all-impor- 
tance of  a  snowy  cloth  being  placed  upon  the  ugly  tray,  and 
further  begged  of  her  to  polish  up  the  teapot  and  spoons, 
Tildy  thought  that  Miss  Maggie  was  more  wonderful  than  ever. 

"  With  them  as  is  about  to  step  into  the  life-matrimonial, 
pains  should  be  took,"  thought  Tildy,  and  she  mentioned  her 
sentiments  to  Mrs.  Ross,  who  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  replied 
that  one  ought  to  do  the  best  one  could  for  the  poor  things. 

At  three  o'clock  Maggie  put  on  her  hat,  drew  her  gloves  on, 
and,  taking  up  a  parasol,  went  out. 

"  Good-bye,  darling,"  she  said  to  her  mother. 

After  all,  she  did  not  go  to  Richmond;  it  was  too  far  off, 
and  she  was  feeling  a  little  tired.  Besides,  the  thought  of  her 
father's  wonderful  treasures  filled  her  mind.  She  deter- 
mined to  go  to  South  Kensington  and  look  at  similar  jewels 
and  ornaments  which  she  believed  she  could  find  there.  It 
occurred  to  her,  too,  that  it  might  be  possible  some  day  to 
consult  the  manager  of  the  jewel  department  with  regard  to 
the  wrorth  of  the  things  which  her  dear  father  had  sent  home; 
but  this  she  would  not  do  to-day. 

Her  visit  to  the  South  Kensington  Museum  made  her  feel 
.positively  assured  that  she  had  articles  of  great  value  in  the 
tin  boxes. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Howland  waited  impatiently  for  Mr.  Martin. 
She  was  puzzled  about  Maggie,  and  yet  relieved.  She  won- 
dered much  what  Maggie  could  have  said  to  Mr.  Martin  that 
day  wrhen  she  breakfasted  with  him.  She  was  not  really 
alarmed.  But  had  she  been  able  to  look  into  Mr.  Martin's 
mind  she  would  have  felt  a  considerable  amount  of  surprise. 
The  worthy  grocer,  although  an  excellent  man  of  business, 
knew  little  or  nothing  about  law.  Maggie's  words  had 
made  him  distinctly  uncomfortable.  Suppose,  after  all,  the 
girl  could  claim  a  right  in  her  father's  beggarly  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  a  year?  Perhaps  the  child  of  the  man  who  had 
settled  that  little  income  on  his  wife  must  have  some  sort 
of  right  to  it?  It  would  be  horrible  to  consult  lawyers;  they 
were  so  terribly  expensive,  too. 

There  was  a  man  in  the  shop,  however,  of  the  name  of 
Howard.  He  was  the  principal  shopwalker,  and  Mr.  Martin 
had  a  great  respect  for  him.  Without  mentioning  names,  he 
put  the  case  before  him — as  he  himself  expressed  it — in  a 
nutshell. 

Howard  thought  for  a  few  minutes,  then  said  slowly  that 
he  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  a  certain  portion  of  the 
money  should  be  spent  on  the  child — in  fact,  that  the  child 
had  a  right  to  it. 

Martin  did  not  like  this.    A  heavy  frown  came  between  his 


100  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

brows.  The  girl  was  a  smart  and  clever  girl,  not  a  bit  like 
Little-sing,  and  she  could  make  herself  very  disagreeable. 
Her  modest  request  for  sixty  pounds  a  year  did  not  seem 
unreasonable.  He  thought  and  thought,  and  the  more  he 
thought  the  more  inclined  he  felt  to  give  Maggie  her  way. 

When  he  arrived  at  Mrs.  Ross's  house  he  did  not  look  quite 
as  cheerful  as  usual.  He  went  upstairs,  as  Tildy  expressed  it, 
"  heavy-like  "  ;  and  although  both  she  and  Mrs.  Ross  watched 
for  that  delightful  scene  when  he  was  "  Bo-peep  "  to  "  Little- 
sing,"  Martin  entered  the  drawing-room  without  making  any 
exhibition  of  himself.  The  room  looked  quite  clean  and 
inviting,  for  Maggie  had  dusted  it  with  her  own  hands,  and 
there  was  a  very  nice  tea  on  the  board,  and  Mrs.  Rowland  was 
dressed  very  prettily  indeed.  Martin  gave  a  long  whistle. 

"  I  say,  Little-sing,"  he  remarked,  "  whoever  has  been  and 
done  it?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  James?"  said  Mrs.  Howland. 

"  Why,  the  place,"  said  Martin;  "  it  looks  sort  of  different." 

"  Oh,  it's  Maggie,"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "  She  went  out  and 
bought  all  those  cakes  for  you  herself." 

"Bless  me,  now,  did  she?"  said  Martin.  "She's  a  smart 
girl — a  ver-ry  smart  girl." 

"  She's  a  very  clever  girl,  James." 

"  Yes,  that's  how  I  put  it — very  clever.  She  has  a  way 
about  her." 

"  She  has,  James.    Every  one  thinks  so." 

"  Well,  Little-sing,  give  me  a  good  meal,  and  then  we'll 
talk." 

Mrs.  Howland  lifted  the  teapot  and  was  preparing  to  pour 
out  a  cup  of  tea  for  Mr.  Martin,  when  he  looked  at  her,  noticed 
her  extreme  elegance  and  grace,  and  made  a  spring  toward 
her. 

"You  haven't  give  Bo-peep  one  kiss  yet,  you  naughty 
Little-sing." 

Mrs.  Howland  colored  as  she  kissed  him.  Of  course  she 
liked  him  very  much;  but  somehow  Maggie  had  brought  a 
new  atmosphere  into  the  house.  Even  Mrs.  Howland  felt  it. 

"Let's. eat,  let's  eat,"  said  Martin.  "I  never  deny  myself 
the  good  things  of  life.  That  girl  knows  a  thing  or  two.  She's 
a  ver-ry  clever  girl." 

"She  is,  James;  she  is." 

"  Now,  what  on  earth  do  you  call  me  James  for?  Ain't  I 
Bo-peep — ain't  I?" 

"  Yes,  Bo-peep,  of  course  you  are." 

"  And  you  are  Little-sing.  You're  a  wonderfully  elegant- 
looking  woman  for  your  years,  Victoria." 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

IN   THE  PARK. 

MRS.  HOWLAND  did  not  like  to  have  her  years  mentioned. 
Mr.  Martin  had  been  careful  never  to  do  so  until  Maggie 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  101 

appeared  on  the  scene.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  dropped 
hints  that  his  birdling,  his  Little-sing,  his  Victoria,  was  in 
the  early  bloom  of  youth.  But  now  he  said  that  she  was  a 
wonderful  woman  for  her  years. 

Mrs.  Howland  bridled  slightly.  "  I  am  not  old,  James,"  she 
said. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  good-natured  grocer;  "  no  'James- 
ing  '  of  me.  I'm  your  Bo-peep.  What  does  it  matter  whether 
you  are  old  or  young,  Victoria,  if  you  suit  me  and  I  suit  you? 
This  is  a  first-rate  tea,  and  that  girl's  clever — uncommon 
clever.  By  the  way,  how  old  may  she  happen  to  be?  " 

"  Sixteen  her  last  birthday,"  said  Mrs.  Howland.  "  I  was 
very,  very  young,  a  mere  child,  when  I  married,  James." 

"There  you  are  with  your  'James'  again!  Strikes  me, 
you're  a  bit  huffy  to-day,  Little-sing." 

"  No,  I  am  not;  only  I've  been  worried  since  Maggie  came 
back.  She  was  so  rude  to  you  yesterday.  I  felt  it  ter- 
ribly." 

"  Did  you  now?  Well,  that  was  very  sensible  of  you. 
We'll  finish  our  tea  before  we  begin  our  talk.  Come,  Little- 
sing,  eat  your  cake  and  drink  your  tea,  and  make  yourself 
agreeable  to  your  Bo-peep." 

Mrs.  Howland  felt  cheered.  She  did  enjoy  her  meal;  and,  if 
she  liked  it,  Mr.  Martin  liked  it  immensely  also. 

"  What  a  useful  girl  that  would  be!  "  he  said.  "  We  could 
make  her  housekeeper  at  Laburnum  Villa  in  no  time.  She  has 
a  head  on  her  shoulders." 

Mrs.  Howland  was  silent.  She  was  dreading  inexpressibly 
the  little  scene  which  she  felt  must  be  endured  between  her; 
and  her  intended. 

"  We'll  ring  the  bell  now,"  said  Martin,  wiping  a  few  crumbs 
from  his  mouth  and  dusting  his  trousers  with  his  pocket- 
handkerchief.  "  We'll  get  Tildy  to  remove  all  these  things, 
and  then  what  do  you  say  to  my  taking  you  for  a  drive  to  the 
Park?  " 

"Oh,  I  should  like  that!"  said  Mrs.  Howland  in  surprise. 

"  Thought  so.  Never  say  that  Bo-peep  isn't  thoughtful. 
— Ah,  here  you  be,  Tildy.  You  clear  away — smart,  my  girl, 
and  then  whistle  for  a  'ansom.  Do  you  hear  me?  A  'ansom, 
not  a  four-wheeler.  Look  as  sharp  as  you  can,  my  girl,  and 
I'll  give  you  sixpence." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Tildy.  She  looked  with  admiring 
eyes  at  the  pair  who  were  so  close  to  the  matrimonial  venture, 
and  quickly  removed  all  traces  of  the  meal. 

"  Now  then,  Little-sing,  go  into  your  room  and  get  dressed 
for  your  drive." 

Mrs.  Howland  did  so.  She  put  on  an  elegant  sort  of  bonnet- 
hat  which  had  been  presented  to  her  by  Martin,  a  lace  fichu 
over  her  shoulders,  and  a  pair  of  long  white  gloves.  She  had 
also  been  presented  with  a  white  parasol  by  Martin.  He 
thought  that  no  one  could  l9ok  more  beautiful  than  his  lady- 
love when  she  reappeared  in  the  drawing-room. 


102  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  The  'ansom's  at  the  door,"  he  said.  "  We'll  go  now  and 
start  on  our  drive." 

Mrs.  Rowland  rose,  and  Tildy  agreed  with  Martin  as  to  Mrs. 
Rowland's  appearance  when  she  stepped  into  that  hansom. 
Tildy  said  she  looked  bride-like.  Mrs.  Ross  remarked  that  as 
elegant  women  before  now  had  become  widows  in  no  time. 
Tildy  shuddered,  and  said  that  Mrs.  Ross  should  not  say  things 
of  that  sort.  Mrs.  Ross  replied  that  she  invariably  spoke  the 
truth,  and  then  returned  to  her  dismal  kitchen. 

Meanwhile  Martin  and  Mrs.  Howland  were  driven  swiftly 
in  the  direction  of  Hyde  Park.  London  society  people  were 
fast  going  out  of  town,  for  it  was  very  nearly  the  end  of 
July;  but  still  there  were  a  few  carriages  about,  and  some 
fine  horsee,  and  some  gaily  dressed  ladies  and  several  smart- 
looking  men.  Martin  provided  a  couple  of  chairs  for  him- 
self and  his  future  wife,  and  they  sat  for  some  little  time 
enjoying  the  fresh  air  and  looking  on  at  the  gay  scene. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  said  Martin,  "  what  a  sight  of  money 
is  wasted  in  this  sort  of  thing." 

'But  they  enJoy  it,  don't  they?"  said  Mrs.  Howland. 

"  Yes,  my  pet,"  he  replied,  "  but  not  as  you  and  me  will 
enjoy  Laburnum  Villa.  And  now,  Little-sing,  can  you  attend 
to  business?" 

44 1  have  a  very  weak  head  for  business,  Bo-peep,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  Don't  I  know  it,  my  pet;  and  I  am  the  last  person  on  earth 
to  allow  you  to  be  worried;  but  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Victory,  if 
your  head  is  weak  as  regards  money  matters,  your  girl  has  a 
topping  good  brain  in  that  direction.  Now,  I  have  a  notion 
in  my  head  about  her." 

"  You  can't  do  anything  with  her,"  said  Mrs.  Howland;  "  she 
is  quite  impossible.  I  never  thought  she  would  treat  you  as 
she  did.  I  could  weep  when  I  think  of  it.  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if,  on  account  of  her  rudeness  and  ingratitude,  we 
broke  off  the  engagement.  I  shouldn't  really,  James." 

44  What  do  you  take  me  for?  "  said  James.  "  It  isn't  the  girl 
I  want  to  marry!  it's  you." 

"  Oh  dear!  "  said  Mrs.  Howland;  "  of  course,  I  know." 

"  She  ain't  a  patch  on  you,  Little-sing — that  is,  I  mean 
as  regards  looks.  But  now,  don't  you  fret.  If  you  have  been 
turning  things  over  in  your  mind,  so  have  I  been  turning 
things  over  in  my  mind,  and  the  sum  and  substance  of  it 
all  is  that  I  believe  that  girl's  right  after  all." 

"  Right  after  all!  But  dear,  dear  James,  the  child  can't  live 
on  nothing! " 

"Who  said  she  was  to  live  on  nothing?"  said  Martin. 
"  Don't  tremble,  Little-sing;  it's  more  than  I  can  stand.  I  have 
been  thinking  that  a  sharp  young  miss  like  that  wants  a  bit 
more  training.  She  wants  breaking  in.  Now,  I've  no  mind 
to  the  job.  I  can  manage  my  shop-people — not  one  of  them 
can  come  round  me,  I  can  tell  you — but  a  miss  like  your 
daughter,  brought  up  altogether,  I  will  say,  above  her  station, 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  103 

is  beyond  me.  What  I  have  been  turning  over  in  my  mind 
is  this,  that  a  year  or  two's  training  longer  will  do  her  no 
sort  of  harm." 

"  Oh!  "  said  Mrs.  Howland.    She  was  trembling  exceedingly. 

"  I  think,  too,"  continued  Martin,  "  that  Laburnum  Villa 
might  not  be  agreeable  to  her  at  present;  and  if  it  ain't  agree- 
able to  her  she'll  put  on  the  sulks,  and  that's  more  than  I  can 
abide.  Cheerfulness  I  must  have.  My  joke  I  must  be  allowed 
to  make.  My  fun  in  my  own  way  f  must  enjoy.  You  and  me 
— we'll  hit  it  off  splendid,  and  let  the  girl  go  for  the  present" 

"  But  she  must  go  somewhere,"  said  Mrs.  Howland. 

"Good  gracious,  my  lady!  do  you  suppose  I'd  allow  the 
girl  to  be  destitute?  No;  I'm  ready  to  do  the  generous;  and 
now,  I'll  tell  you  something.  You  mustn't  blame  her  too  much. 
She  repented  of  her  ill-natured  manner  last  night,  and  came 
to  me  as  pretty  as  you  please  this  morning,  and  asked  me  to 
breakfast  with  her.  I  was  taken  aback,  but  she  came  round 
me,  and  we  went  to  Harrison's  and  had  a  topping  meal.  Then 
she  spoke  to  me  very  sensible,  and  explained  that  she  wanted 
more  "  parlez-vooing  "  and  more  "  pi-annofortying,"  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  so-called  ladies'  accomplishments.  She  con- 
sulted me  very  pretty  and  very  proper  indeed;  and  the  long 
and  the  short  of  it  is  that  I  am  willing  to  allow  her  forty 
pounds  a  year  for  her  education  at  that  blessed  Aylmer  House 
where  all  the  swells  go,  and  to  keep  her  there  for  two  years 
certain;  and  I  am  willing,  further,  to  give  her  twenty  pounds 
a  year  to  spend  on  dress.  Of  course  she  takes  her  holidays 
with  us.  Then,  if  at  the  end  of  that  time  she  turns  out 
what  I  hope  she  will,  I  will  make  her  an  accountant  in  the 
shop;  it  will  be  a  first-rate  post  for  her,  and  I  am  sure,  from 
the  way  she  talks,  she  has  a  splendid  head  for  business.  Now, 
what  do  you  say  to  that,  Little-sing?" 

"  I  say  there  never  was  your  like,  Bo-peep." 

Mr.  Martin  rubbed  his  hands.  "  Thought  you'd  be  pleased," 
he  said.  "  The  girl  spoke  very  proper  indeed  this  morn- 
ing, and  she  is  a  good  girl — plain  and  sensible,  and  I  couldn't 
but  take  notice  of  her  words.  Now  then,  s'pose  we  take  a 
fresh  'ansom,  and  hurry  home;  and  I'll  take  you  out  and  give 
you  a  right  good  bit  of  dinner,  and  afterwards  we'll  go  to  the 
play." 

"Oh  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Howland,  "you  are  good  to  me,  Bo- 
peep." 

CHAPTER   XV. 

TWO   SIDES. 

MRS.  WARD'S  school  reopened  on  the  20th  of  September. 
For  two  or  three  days  beforehand  the  immaculate  and 
beautiful  house  was  being  made,  if  possible,  still  more  im- 
maculate and  still  more  lovely.  The  window-boxes  were  re- 
filled with  flowers;  the  dainty  little  bedrooms  were  supplied 
with  fresh  curtains  to  the  windows  and  fresh  drapery  for  the 
beds. 


104  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Mrs.  Ward  herself  arrived  at  the  school  about  a  week  be- 
fore her  pupils  made  their  appearance.  She  had  much  to 
settle  during  this  week.  She  had,  in  short,  to  prepare  her 
plan  of  campaign  for  the  ensuing  term :  to  interview  her  dif- 
ferent masters  and  mistresses,  to  consult  with  her  resident 
English  governess  (a  charming  girl  of  the  name  of  Talbot), 
to  talk  over  matters  with  Fraulein  Beck,  and  to  reassure 
Mademoiselle  Laplage,  who  was  very  lively,  very  conscien- 
tious, but  at  the  same  time  very  nervous  with  regard  to  her 
own  powers.  "  Les  jeunes  filles  Anglaises  sont  bien  capables 
et  bien  distinguees  mats — ma. foil  comme  elles  me  fatiguent 
les  nerfs!"  Mademoiselle  Laplage  would  say;  and,  although 
she  had  been  at  Aylmer  House  for  three  terms,  she  always 
doubted  her  powers,  and  made  the  same  speech  over  and 
over  again  at  the  beginning  of  each  term.  In  addition  to 
Miss  Talbot,  there  was  a  very  cheery,  bright  girl  of  the 
name  of  Johnson,  who  looked  after  the  girls'  wardrobes  and 
helped  them,  if  necessary,  with  their  work,  saw  that  they 
were  punctual  at  meals,  and  occasionally  took  an  English 
class.  She  was  a  great  favorite  with  all  the  girls  at  Mrs. 
Ward's  school.  They  called  her  Lucy,  instead  of  Miss  John- 
son. She  was  quite  young — not  more  than  twenty  years  of 
age. 

These  four  ladies  resided  at  Aylmer  House;  but  masters 
and  mistresses  for  various  accomplishments  came  daily  to 
instruct  the  girls.  Mrs.  Ward  loved  her  teachers  almost  as 
much  as  she  loved  her  girls,  and  they  each  and  all  adored  her. 

Miss  Talbot  was  an  exceedingly  clever  woman,  close  on 
thirty  years  of  age.  She  had  taken  very  high  honors  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  was  a  person  of  great  penetration  of  character, 
with  a  genius  for  imparting  knowledge. 

Unlike  most  head-mistresses,  Mrs.  Ward  seldom  changed 
her  staff  of  teachers.  She  had  the  gift  of  selection  to  a 
marvellous  degree,  and  never  was  known  to  make  a  mistake 
with  regard  to  the  choice  of  those  women  who  helped  her 
in  her  great  work  of  education. 

Summer  was,  of  course,  over  when  the  girls  assembled  at 
Aylmer  House.  Nevertheless,  there  was  a  sort  of  afterglow 
of  summer,  which  was  further  intensified  by  the  beautiful 
flowers  in  the  window-boxes  and  by  the  fresh,  clean,  fragrant 
atmosphere  of  the  house  itself. 

The  two  Cardews  and  the  two  Tristrams  came  up  to  Aylmer 
House  by  an  early  train.  Mr.  Tristram  brought  them  to  school, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cardew  at  the  last  moment  feeling  unequal  to 
the  task  of  parting  with  their  darlings  in  the  presence  of 
their  companions.  The  real  parting  had  taken  place  the  pre- 
vious night;  and  that  pain  which  Merry  had  felt  at  intervals 
during  the  end  of  the  summer  vacation  was  sharp  enough 
to  cause  her  to  cry  when  she  lay  down  to  sleep  on  the  night 
before  going  to  school.  But  Merry  was  brave,  and  so  was 
Cicely;  and,  although  Merry  did  hate  beyond  words  the 
thought  of  not  seeing  her  beloved  father  and  her  dear  mother 


THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS.  105 

until  Christmas,  she  thought  also  that  very  good  times  were 
before  her,  and  she  was  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  them. 

Molly  and  Isabel,  who  were  quite  accustomed  to  going  to 
school,  had  no  pangs  of  heart  at  all  when  they  bade  their 
mother  good-bye.  As  to  Peterkins  and  Jackdaw,  as  they  were 
also  going  to  school  on  the  following  day,  they  scarcely  ob- 
served the  departure  of  their  sisters,  only  saying,  when  Belle 
hugged  one  and  Molly  the  other,  "  What  a  fuss  you  girls  do 
make!  Now,  if  Spot-ear  and  Fanciful  were  to  fret  about  us 
there'd  be  some  reason  in  it.  But  mother's  going  to  look  after 
them;  and  mother's  a  brick,  I  can  tell  you."  The  girls 
laughed  very  merrily,  and  asked  what  message  her  two  adorers 
would  like  to  send  to  Maggie. 

The  twp  adorers  only  vouchsafed  the  remark,  "  Don't  bother; 
we're  going  to  be  with  boys  now,  and  boys  are  worth  all 
the  girls  in  creation  put  together." 

The  journey  to  tofvn  was  taken  without  any  special  adven- 
ture, and  at  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  an  omnibus 
containing  the  four  girls,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Tristram,  with 
their  luggage  piled  on  the  roof,  stopped  at  Aylmer  House. 

Aneta  had  already  arrived;  and  as  the  girls  entered  with  a 
new  feeling  of  timidity  through  the  wide-open  doors  they 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Maggie  in  the  distance.  There  were 
other  girls,  absolute  strangers  to  them,  who  peeped  for  a 
minute  over  the  balusters  and  then  retired  from  view.  But, 
whatever  the  four  strangers  might  have  felt  with  regard  to 
these  interesting  occurrences,  every  other  feeling  was  brought 
into  subjection  by  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Ward  on  the  scene. 

Mrs.  Ward  looked  quite  as  stately  as  Mrs.  Cardew,  with  her 
beautiful  face  still  quite  young;  with  her  most  kind,  most 
gentle,  most  protective  manner;  with  the  glance  of  the  eye 
and  the  pressure  of  the  hand  which  spoke  untold  volumes  of 
meaning.  Merry  felt  her  loving  heart  rise  in  sudden  adora- 
tion. Cicely  gave  her  a  quick,  adoring  glance.  As  to  Molly 
and  Isabel,  they  were  speechless  with  pleasure. 

"  You  have  come,  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Ward.  "  Welcome,  all 
four! — These  are  your  girls,  Mr.  Tristram" — she  singled  out 
Molly  and  Isabel  without. being  introduced  to  them.  "  I  know 
them,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "  from  their  likeness  to  you. 
And  these  are  the  Cardews.  Now,  which  is  Cicely  and  which 
Merry?  Ah,  I  think  I  can  tell.  This  is  Merry,  is  she  not?" 
and  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  pretty  girl's  shoulder. 

"Yes,  I  am  Merry,"  replied  Meredith  Cardew  in  a  voice 
which  almost  choked  her. 

"  And  you,  of  course,  are  Cicely,"  said  Mrs.  Ward.  "  In 
this  house  all  the  girls  speak  to  each  other  by  their  Christian 
names;  and  you  will  be  Cicely  and  Merry  to  me,  as  Molly  and 
Isabel  Tristram  will  be  Molly  and  Isabel  to  me.  You  know 
Aneta,  of  course.  She  is  hovering  near,  anxious  to  take  pos- 
session of  you.  Go  with  her,  dears.  I  think  all  my  girls  have 
now  come. — Is  it  not  so,  Miss  Talbot?" 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Ward,"  replied  Miss  Talbot. 


106  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

"  Miss  Talbot,  may  I  introduce  my  four  new  pupils  to  you,  ' 
€icely  and  Merry  Cardew,  and  Molly  and  Isabel  Tristram? — 
You  will  have  a  good  deal  to  do  with  Miss  Talbot,  girls,  for  { 
she  is  our  English  teacher,  and  my  very  great  friend." 

Miss  Talbot  blushed  slightly  from  pleasure.     She  said  3  ] 
•gentle  word  to  each  girl,  and  a  minute  afterwards  they  had,  ! 
so  to  speak,  crossed  the  Rubicon,  and  were  in  the  heart  of  I 
Aylmer  House;  for  Aneta  had  seized  Merry's  hand,  and  Cicely 
followed  immediately  afterwards,  while  Molly  and  Belle  found 
themselves  one  at  each  side  of  Maggie  Howland. 

"Oh,  this  is  delightful! "  said  Maggie.  "  We  have  all  met 
at  last.  Isn't  the  day  glorious?  Isn't  the  place  perfect? 
Aren't  you  in  love  with  Mrs.  Ward?" 

"  She  seems  very  nice,"  said  Molly  in  an  almost  timid  voice. 

"How  nice  Merry  and  Cicely  look!"  continued  Maggie. 

"  You  look  nice,  yourself,  Maggie.  Everything  is  wonder- 
ful," said  Molly;  "  not  a  bit  like  the  school  in  Hanover." 

"  Of  course  not.    Who  could  compare  it?  "  said  Maggie. 

Meanwhile  Aneta,  Cicely,  and  Merry  had  gone  on  in  front. 
But  as  they  were  ascending  the  braad,  low  stairs,  Merry  turned 
and  glanced  at  Maggie  'and  smiled  at  her,  and  Maggie  smiled 
back  at  Merry.  Oh,  that  smile  of  Merry's,  how  it  caused 
her  heart  to  leap!  Aneta,  try  as  she  would,  could  not  take 
Merry  Cardew  quite  away  from  her. 

Cicely  and  Merry  had  a  bedroom  together.  Two  little  white 
beds  stood  side  by  side.  The  drugget  on  the  floor  was  pale 
blue.  The  room  was  a  study  in  pale  blue  and  white.  It 
was  all  exquisitely  neat,  fresh,  airy,  and  the  smell  of  the 
flowers  in  the  window-boxes  came  in  through  the  open  win- 
dows. 

"  Why,"  said  Cicely  with  a  gasp,  "  we  might  almost  be  in 
the  country! " 

"  This  is  one  of  the  nicest  rooms  in  the  whole  house,"  said 
Aneta.  "  But  why  should  I  say  that,"  she  continued,  "  when 
every  room  is,  so  to  speak,  perfect?  I  never  saw  Mrs.  Ward, 
however,  more  particular  than  she  was  about  your  bedroom, 
girls.  I  think  she  is  very  much  pleased  at  your  coming  to 
Aylmer  House." 

Cicely  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"It  is  so  nice  to  be  in  London,"  she  said;  "but  somehow* 
I  thought  it  would  be  much  more  noisy." 

Aneta  laughed. 

"  Aylmer  House,"  she  said,  "  stands  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
square.  We  don't  have  huge  traffic  in  the  squares;  and,  really, 
at  night  it  is  as  quiet  as  the  country  itself." 

"But  hark!  hark!"  said  Merry,  "there  is  a  funny  sound 
after  all." 

"What  do  you  take  it  for?"  asked  Aneta. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Merry.  "  I  could  almost  imagine  that 
we  were  by  the  seaside,  and  that  the  sound  was  the  roar  of  the 
breakers  on  the  beach." 

"  It  is  the  roar  of  human  breakers,"  said  Aneta.    "  One  al- 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  107 

ways  hears  that  kind  of  sound  even  in  the  quietest  parts  of 
London.  It  is  the  great  traffic  in  the  thoroughfares  not  far 
away." 

"  It  is  delightful!  wonderful!  "  said  Merry.  "  Oh,  I  long  to 
know  all  the  girls!  You  will  introduce  us,  won't  you,  Aneta?  " 

"Of  course;  and  you  must  be  very  quick  remembering 
names.  Let  me  see.  You  two,  and  Molly  and  Isabel,  and 
Maggie  Howland,  and  I  make  six.  There  are  twenty  girls  in 
the  house  altogether,  so  you  have  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  fourteen  others." 

"  I  never  can  possibly  remember  their  names,"  said  Merry. 

"  You  will  have  to  try.  That's  the  first  thing  expected  of 
a  schoolgirl — to  know  the  names  of  her  schoolfellows." 

"  Well,  I  will  do  my  best." 

"  You  had  better  do  your  best;  it  will  be  a  good  occupation 
for  you  during  this  first  evening.  Now,  are  you  ready?  And 
shall  wre  go  down?  We  have  tea  in  the  refectory  at  four 
o'clock.  Mademoiselle  Laplage  presides  over  the  tea-table 
this  week." 
.  "  Oh,  but  does  she  talk  English?  " 

"  Of  course  not — French.  How  can  you  learn  French  if 
you  don't  talk  it?  " 

"  I  shall  never  understand,"  said  poor  Merry. 

"  Well,  I've  no  doubt  she  will  let  you  off  very  easily  during 
the  first  few  days,"  said  Aneta.  "  But  afterwards  she  is  just 
as  particular  as  woman  can  be." 

The  girls  went  downstairs,  where  a  group  of  other  girls — 
most  of  them  wearing  pretty  white  dresses,  for  they  were 
all  still  in  full  summer  attire — met  in  the  wide,  pleasant  hall. 
Aneta  performed  the  ceremony  of  introduction. 

"  Henrietta  and  Mary  Gibson,  may  I  introduce  my  special 
friends  and  cousins,  Cicely  and  Meredith — otherwise  Merry — 
Cardew?  " 

Two  tall,  fair,  lady-like  girls  responded  to  this  introduc- 
tion with  a  hearty  shake  of  the  hand  and  a  hearty  welcome 
to  the  new-comers. 

"  Here  is  Rosamond  Dacre,"  continued  Aneta,  as  a  very  dark, 
somewrhat  plain  girl  appeared  in  view. — "  Rosamond,  my 
friends  and  cousins,  Cicely  and  Merry  Cardew." 

Rosamond  shook  hands,  but  stiffly,  and  without  any  smile. 
The  next  minute  a  laughing,  mprry,  handsome  little  girl, 
with  dark-blue  eyes,  very  dark  curling  eyelashes,  and  quan- 
tities of  curling  black  hair,  tumbled  rather  than  walked  into 
view. 

"Ah  Kathleen — Kitty,  you're  just  as  incorrigible  as  ever!" 
cried  Aneta. — "  Girls,  this  is  our  Irish,  romp,  as  we  always 
eall  her.  Her  name  is  Kathleen  O'Donnell. — Now  then,  Kath- 
leen, you  must  be  good,  you  know,  and  not  too  terribly  Irish. 
I  have  the  honor  to  present  to  you,  Kathleen,  my  cousins, 
Cicely  and  Merry  Cardew." 

Kathleen  did  more  than  smile.  She  laughed  outright.  "  I 
am  delighted  you  have  come,"  she  said.  "  How  are  you?  Isn't 


108  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

school  glorious?  I  do  love  it!  I  have  come  straight  from 
Glengariff — the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  whole  of  Ireland. 
Do  you  know  Ireland?  Have  you  ever  seen  Bantry  Bay?  Oh, 
there  is  no  country  in  all  the  world  like  it,  and  there  is  no 
scenery  so  magnificent." 

"  Gome,  Kitty,  not  quite  so  much  chatter,"  said  Aneta. — 
"Ah,  there's  the  tea-gong." 

The  girls  now  followed  Aneta  into  a  pleasant  room  which 
looked  out  on  to  a  small  garden.  The  garden,  compared  to  the 
great,  sweeping  lawns  and  lovely  parterres  of  Meredith  Manor, 
was  insignificant.  Nevertheless,  with  the  French  windows  of 
the  refectory  wide  open,  and  the  beds  full  of  hardy  flowers — 
gay  geraniums,  late  roses,  innumerable  asters,  fuchsias,  etc. 
— it  appeared  as  a  fresh  surprise  to  the  country  girls. 

"  It  isn't  like  London,"  thought  Merry. 

At  tea  she  found  herself,  greatly  to  her  relief,  at  Maggie's 
side.  There  was  also  another  piece  of  good  fortune — at  least 
so  it  seemed  to  the  Cardews,  whose  conversational  French 
was  still  almost  nil — Mademoiselle  Laplage  was  unexpectedly 
absent,  the  good  lady  being  forced  to  remain  in  her  room  with 
a  sudden,  overpowering  headache,  and  pleasant,  good-natured 
Lucy — otherwise  Miss  Johnson — took  her  place. 

"  Perfect  freedom  to-day,  girls,"  said  Miss  Johnson. 

"  Ah,  good  Lucy!  thank  you,  Lucy! "  exclaimed  Kathleen. 

"That's  right,  Lucy!  Hurrah  Tor  Lucy!"  cried  several 
other  voices. 

"  No  discipline  at  all  to-day,"  continued  Lucy.  "  School 
doesn't  begin  until  to-morrow." 

Cicely  was  seated  near  Aneta,  with  Kathleen  O'Donnell  at 
her  other  side.  Just  for  a  minute  Aneta's  eyes  traveled  across 
the  table  and  fixed  themselves  on  Maggie's  face.  Maggie 
found  herself  coloring,  and  a  resentful  feeling  awoke  in  her 
heart.  She  could  not  dare  to  oppose  Aneta;  and  yet — and 
yet — she  was  determined  at  any  cost  to  keep  the  love  of 
Merry  Cardew  for  herself. 

Meanwhile  Merry,  who  was  equally  delighted  to  find  herself 
by  Maggie's  side,  began  to  talk  to  her  in  a  low  tone. 

"  You  don't  look  very  well,  Mags,"  she  said — "  not  nearly 
as  robust  as  when  I  saw  you  last;  and  you  never  wrote  to  me 
after  that  first  letter." 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  I  want  to  tell  you,"  said  Maggie  in  a 
low  tone.  "  Lucy  is  quite  right;  there  are  no  lessons  of  any 
sort  this  evening.  Mrs.  Ward  always  gives  us  the  first  evening 
to  settle  and  to  get  perfectly  at  home  in,  so  we  shall  be  able 
to  chatter  to  our  heart's  content.  This  is  going  to  be  a  glorious 
night,  and  we  can  walk  about  in  the  garden." 

"  But  won't  there  be  a  lot  of  other  people  in  the  garden?  " 
asked  Merry. 

"  Why,  of  course,"  said  Maggie  in  a  surprised  tone.  "I 
suppose  we'll  all  be  there." 

"  We  can't  talk  any  secrets,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,"  said 
Merry,  "  for  the  garden  is  so  very  small." 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  109 

Maggie  laughed.  "  That's  because  you  are  accustomed  to 
Meredith  Manor,"  she  said.  "  Anyhow,"  she  continued,  drop- 
ping her  voice,  "  I  must  talk  to  you.  I  have  a  great,  great 
deal  to  say,  and  you'll  have  to  listen." 

"  Of  course  I  will  listen,  dear,"  said  Merry. 

Rosamond  Dacre  now  joined  in,  and  the  conversation  be- 
came general.  Henrietta  and  Mary  Gibson  had  a  very  agree- 
able way  of  describing  things.  Maggie  felt  herself  reinstated 
in  the  life  she  loved;  Merry,  the  girl  she  cared  for  best, 
was  by  her  side,  and  she  would  not  have  had  a  single  thorn 
in  the  flesh  but  for  the  presence  of  Aneta. 

It  has  been  said  that  in  this  school  there  were  two  girls 
who  held  considerable  sway  over  their  companions.  One  of 
them  was  Aneta  Lysle,  the  other  Maggie  Howland.  Aneta  had, 
of  course,  far  and  away  the  greater  number  of  girls  under 
her  spell,  if  such  a  word  could  describe  her  high  and  noble 
influence  over  them.  But  Maggie  had  her  own  friends, 
among  whom  were  Rosamond  Dacre,  Kathleen  O'Donnell, 
Matty  and  Clara  Roache,  and  Janet  Burns.  All  these  girls 
were  fairly  nice,  but  not  so  high-bred  and  not  so  noble  in 
tone  as  the  girls  who  devoted  themselves  to  Aneta.  Kath- 
leen was,  indeed,  altogether  charming;  she  was  the  romp  of 
the  school  and  the  darling  of  every  one.  But  Rosamond  Dacre 
was  decidedly  morose  and  sulky.  She  was  clever,  and  on  this 
account  her  mistresses  liked  her;  but  she  was  a  truly  difficult 
girl  to  deal  with,  being  more  or  less  shut  up  within  herself, 
and  disinclined  to  true  friendship  with  any  one.  She  liked 
Kathleen  O'Donnell,  however,  and  Kathleen  adored  Maggie. 
Rosamond  was,  therefore,  considered  to  be  on  Maggie's  side 
of  the  school.  Matty  and  Clara  Roache  were  quite  ordinary, 
everyday  sort  of  girls,  neither  very  good-looking  nor  the  re- 
verse, neither  specially  clever  nor  specially  stupid.  Their 
greatest  friend  was  Janet  Burns,  a  handsome  little  girl  with 
a  very  lofty  brow,  calm,  clear  gray  eyes,  and  a  passionate 
adoration  for  Maggie  Howland.  Matty  and  Clara  would  follow 
Janet  to  the  world's  end,  and,  as  Janet  adhered  to  Maggie, 
they  were  also  on  Maggie's  side. 

Maggie  naturally  expected  to  add  to  the  numbers  of  her 
special  adherents  her  own  two  friends,  the  Tristrams.  She 
felt  she  could  easily  have  won  Merry  also  to  join  the  ranks 
of  adorers;  but  then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that  her 
friendship  for  Merry  should  be  even  more  subtle  than  the 
ordinary  friendship  that  an  ordinary  girl  who  is  queen  at 
school  gives  to  her  fellows.  She  did  not  dare  to  defy  Aneta. 
Merry  must  outwardly  belong  to  Aneta,  but  if  her  heart  was 
Maggie's  what  else  mattered? 

When  tea  was  over  several  of  the  girls  drifted  into  the 
garden,  where  they  walked  in  twos,  discussing  their  holidays, 
their  old  friends,  and  the  time  which  was  just  coming.  There 
was  not  a  trace  of  unhappiness  in  any  face.  The  whole  atmos- 
phere of  the  place  seemed  to  breathe  peace  and  goodwill. 

Aneta  and  Cicely,  with  some  of  Aneta's  own  friends,  two 


110  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

girls  of  the  name  of  Armitage — Anne  and  Jessie — and  a  very 
graceful  girl  called  Sylvia  St.  John,  walked  up  and  down  talk- 
ing quietly  together  for  some  little  time. 

Then  Cicely  looked  eagerly  round  her.  "  I  can't  see  Merry 
anywhere,"  she  remarked. 

"  She  is  all  right,  dear,  I  am  sure,"  said  Aneta.  But  Aneta 
in  her  inmost  heart  did  not  think  so.  She  was,  however,  far 
too  prudent  to  say  a  word  to  make  her  cousin  Cicely  uneasy. 

Meanwhile  Maggie  and  Merry  had  found  a  cosy  corner  for 
themselves  in  one  of  the  conservatories.  They  sat  side  by  side 
in  two  little  garden-chairs. 

"  Well,  you've  come!  "  said  Maggie.  "  I  have  carried  out  my 
design.  My  heart's  desire  is  satisfied." 

"Oh,  how  sweet  you  are,  Maggie!"  said  Merry.  "I  have 
missed  you  so  much!  "  she  added.  "  I  have  so  often  wished  for 
you! " 

"Do  you  really  love  me?"  asked  Maggie,  looking  at  Merry 
in  her  queer,  abrupt  manner. 

"  You  know  I  do,"  said  Merry. 

"  Well,"  said  Maggie,  "  there  are  a  great  many  girls  in  the 
school  who  love  me  very  dearly." 

"  It  is  easy  to  perceive  that,"  said  Merry.  "  Why,  Maggie, 
at  tea-time  that  handsome  little  Irish  girl — Kathleen  you  call 
her — couldn't  take  her  eyes  off  you." 

"  Oh,  Kitty,"  said  Maggie.     "  Yes,  she  is  on  my  side." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  your  side?" 

"  Well,  of  course  I  have  told  you — haven't  I? — that  there 
are  two  of  us  in  this  school  who  are  more  looked  up  to  than 
the  others.  It  seems  very  conceited  for  me  to  say  that  I 
happen  to  be  one.  Of  course  I  am  not  a  patch  on  Aneta;  I 
know  that  perfectly  well." 

"Aneta  is  a  darling,"  said  Merry;  "and  she  is  my  own 
cousin;  but" — she  dropped  her  voice — "Maggie,  somehow,  I 
can't  help  loving  you  best." 

"  Oh,"  said  Maggie  with  a  start,  "  is  that  true?  " 

"  It  is!  it  is!  " 

Maggie  was  silent  for  a  minute.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
she  said  very  gently,  "  You  won't  be  hurt  at  something  I  want 
to  tell  you?  " 

"Hurt!     No,"  said  Merry;  "why  should  I  be?" 

"Well,  it  is  just  this:  Aneta  is  frightfully  jealous  of  me." 

"Oh!  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Merry  indignantly.  "It  isn't 
in  her  nature  to  be  jealous.  It's  very  low-minded  to  be  jeal- 
ous." 

"  There  is  no  school,"  said  Maggie,  "  where  jealousy  does 
not  abound.  There  is  no  life  into  which  jealousy  does  not 
-enter.  The  world  itself  is  made  up  of  jealous  people.  Aneta 
is  jealous  of  me.  and  I — I  am  jealous  of  her." 

"  Oh,  Maggie  dear,  you  must  not,  and  you  ought  not  to  be 
jealous  of  Aneta!  She  thinks  so  kindly,  so  sweetly  of  every 
one." 

"She  loves  you."  said  Maggie.     'You  just  go  and  tell  her 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  Ill 

how  much  you  care  for  me,  that  you  love  me  better  than  you 
love  her,  and  see  how  she  will  take  it." 

"  But  I  wouldn't  tell  her  that,"  said  little  Merry,  "  for  it 
would  hurt  her." 

"  There!  "  said  Maggie  with  a  laugh;  "  and  yet  you  pretend 
that  you  don't  think  her  jealous." 

"  She  will  never  be  jealous  of  me,  for  I'll  never  give  her 
cause — dear  Aneta!"  said  Merry. 

Maggie  was  again  silent  and  thoughtful  for  a  few  minutes. 
"  Listen  to  me,  Merry,"  she  said.  "  In  this  school  the  girls 
follow  the  queens.  If  I  wanted  to  make  Aneta  Lysle  really 
mad  with  jealousy  I'd  get  you  over  to  me;  but — don't  speak 
for  a  minute — I  won't  get  you  over  to  me.  You  shall  stay  at 
school  and  be  on  Aneta's  side." 

"  I  suppose — I  suppose  I  ought,"  said  Merry  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  You  must — you  must  be  on  Aneta's  side  of  the  school,  and 
so  must  Cicely;  but  you  can,  all  the  same,  love  me  best." 

"Can  I?"  said  Merry,  brightening  up.  "Then,  if  I  can, 
I  sha'n't  mind  a  bit." 

Maggie  patted  her  hand  very  gently.  "  You  can,  Merry;  and 
you  can  help  me.  You  will  always  take  my  part,  won't  you?  " 

"Indeed — indeed  I  will!    But  it  won't  be  necessary." 

"  It  may  be,"  said  Maggie  very  earnestly.  "  Promise  that, 
if  the  time  comes,  you  will  take  my  part." 

"  I  promise,  of  course.  What  can  be  the  matter  with  you, 
Maggie?  You  don't  look  a  bit  yourself." 

Maggie  did  not  at  once  reply.  "  I  shall  have  a  great  deal  to 
do  this  term,"  she  said  after  a  pause;  "  and  my  party  in  the 
school  won't  be  so  weak  after  all.  There'll  be  Rosamond 
Dacre " 

"  I  didn't  very  much  like  Rosamond,"  said  Merry,  speaking 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Oh,  she  is  excellent  fun  when  you  know  her,"  said  Maggie; 
"  but  as  she  won't  be  on  your  side,  nor  in  your  form,  you  are 
not  likely  to  have  much  to  do  with  her.  Then  Matty  and 
Clara  are  first-rate,  and  they're  mine  too;  and  Kathleen  O'Don- 
nell  is  a  perfect  brick;  and  Janet  Burns,  she's  as  strong  as 
they  make  'em.  Of  course  the  Tristrams  will  belong  to  me. 
Let  me  see:  Tristrams,  two;  Rosamond,  three;  Kathleen,  four; 
Matty  and  Clara,  six;  Janet,  seven.  Ah,  well,  I  am  quite  in 
the  minority.  Aneta  carries  off  eleven  girls  as  her  share." 

"  Don't  be  sad  about  it,  Maggie.  Surely  we  might  all  be  one 
in  the  school!  Why  should  there  be  parties?  "  said  Merry. 

"  Little  you  know,  Merry,  how  impossible  school-life  would 
be  without  parties,  and  great  friends,  and  medium  friends,  and 
favorites,  and  enemies.  Why,  Merry,  school  is  a  little  world, 
and  the  world  is  made  up  of  elements  such  as  these." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Merry  after  a  pause,  "  what  you  did  after 
you  left  us." 

Maggie  colored.  "  Oh,  stayed  for  a  time  in  that  horrid  Shep- 
herd's Bush." 

"In  those  fusty,  musty  lodgings?"  said  Merry. 


112  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  Yes,  and  they  were  fusty,  musty." 

"Oh  dear!  I  am  sorry  for  you.  We  had  such  a  glorious 
time! " 

"  I  know  it,  dear;  but  glorious  times  don't  come  to  girls 
like  me." 

44  Why,  are  you  so  very,  very  sad,  Maggie?  Oh,  now  I  know 
— of  course  I  know.  I  didn't  like  to  write  to  you  about  it, 
for  it  seemed  to  me  quite — you  will  forgive  me,  won't  you? 
— quite  dreadful  that  your  mother  should  have  married  again. 
Is  she  married  yet,  Maggie?" 

Maggie  nodded. 

"  Oh,  I  can  sympathize  with  you,  dear  Maggie!  It  must  be  so 
fearful  to  have  a  stepfather!  " 

"  It  is,"  said  Maggie. 

41  Is  he  a  nice  man,  Maggie?  Or  would  you  rather  I  didn't 
speak  of  him?" 

44  No;  you  may  speak  of  him  if  you  like.  He  is  a  rich  man 
— he  is  very  rich." 

14 1  am  glad  of  that  at  any  rate,"  said  Merry.  "  You  will  never 
be  in  fusty,  musty  lodgings  any  more." 

"Oh  no,  never!  my  mother's  husband — I  cannot  speak  of 
him  as  my  stepfather — will  see  to  that." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

Maggie  hesitated.  Not  for  the  world  would  she  have  let  any 
of  her  schoolfellows  know  the  real  position;  but  she  could 
not  very  well  conceal  her  stepfather's  name. 

44  Martin,"  she  said. 

"  Spelt  with  a  '  y '?  We  know  some  awfully  nice  Martyns. 
They  live  about  twenty  miles  away  from  Meredith  Manor. 
I  wonder  if  your  Mr.  Martyn  is  related  to  them." 

"  Oh,  very  likely,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Then  perhaps  you  will  go  to  stay  with  them — your  mother, 
and  your — your  mother's  husband,  and  you  too;  and  we'll  all 
meet.  They  live  at  a  place  called  The  Meadows.  It  isn't  as 
old  or  as  beautiful  as  our  Manor,  but  it's  a  sweet  place,  and 
the  girls  are  so  nice  you'll  be  sure  to  like  them." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  I  shall,"  said  Maggie,  who  didn't  care  to 
contradict  Mary's  innocent  ideas  with  regard  to  her  mother's 
marriage. 

"  Well,  I  am  glad,"  said  Merry,  "  that  your  dear  mother  has 
married  a  rich  gentleman.  Has  he  a  country  place  of  his 
own?  " 

"  Of  course  he  has,"  said  Maggie,  who  felt  that  she  could 
at  least  utter  these  words  with  truth. 

44  And  is  it  far,  far  from  London,  or  quite  in  the  country?  " 

"  It  is,"  said  Maggie,  "  in — in  the  Norwood  direction." 

This  remark  made  no  impression  whatever  on  Merry,  who 
had  not  the  least  idea  where  the  Norwood  direction  was.  But, 
by-and-by,  when  she  parted  from  Maggie  and  joined  her  sister 
and  Aneta,  she  said,  "  I  have  a  piece  of  rather  good  news  to 
tell  about  dear  Maggie  Howland.  She  won't  be  poor  any 
more." 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  113 

"  That  is  a  word  we  never  discuss  at  school,"  said  Aneta. 

"  Well,  we  needn't  after  to-night,"  said  Merry  with  a  slight 
touch  of  irritation  in  her  manner.  "  But  although  I  haven't 
the  faintest  idea  what  poverty  means,  I  think  poor  Maggie 
knows  a  good  deal  about  it.  Well,  she  won't  have  anything 
to  do  with  it  in  future,  for  her  mother  has  just  married  again." 

"Oh!"  said  Aneta,  with  a  show  of  interest. 

"  Yes;  and  a  very  nice  gentleman  he  must  be.  He  is  a  cousin 
of  the  Martyns  of  The  Meadows.  You  know  how  you  liked 
them  when  we  spent  a  day  there  during  these  holidays — didn't 


yovi,  Aneta?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Aneta,  "  most  charming  peopl 
sorry  that  the  Martyn  girls  were  too  old  for  school.    I  wonder 


,"  said  Aneta,  "  most  charming  people.     I  felt  quite 


they  didn't  mention  the  fact  of  their  cousin  being  about  to 
marry  Mrs.  Howland;  for  you  know  we  were  talking  of  Maggie 
to  them,  or  at  least  you  were,  Merry." 

"  Of  course  I  was,"  said  Merry  in  a  determined  voice.  "  I 
am  very,  very  fond  of  Maggie  Howland." 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  go  to  bed  now,"  said  Aneta.  "  I 
may  as  well  tell  you,  girls,  that  we  have  to  get  up  at  half- 
past  six.  Lucy  comes  to  us  and  wakes  us  at  that  hour,  and 
we  are  expected  to  be  downstairs  at  seven.  Lucy  will  tell  you, 
too,  girls,  that  it  is  expected  of  us  all  that  we  shall  keep  our 
rooms  in  perfect  order.  Now,  shall  we  say  good-night?  " 

The  Cardews  kissed  their  cousin  and  went  to  their  own 
pleasant  room. 

As  soon  as  they  were  there  Merry  said,  "  Cicely,  I  am  glad 
about  poor  Maggie." 

"  And  so  am  I,"  said  Cicely. 

"  When  we  write  home  we  must  be  sure  to  mention  to 
mother  about  Mr.  Martyn.  I  don't  think  dear  Maggie  knew 
anything  about  The  Meadows;  so  perhaps,  after  all,  he  is  a 
somewhat  distant  cousin;  but  it  is  such  a  comfort  to  know 
that  he  is  rich  and  a  gentleman." 

"  Yes,"  said  Cicely.  Then  she  added,  "  I  don't  think  Aneta 
wants  you  to  make  too  great  a  friend  of  Maggie  Howland." 

"  Oh,  nonsense!  "  said  Merry,  coloring  slightly.  "  I  am  never 
going  to  give  Maggie  up,  for  I  love  her  dearly." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Cicely,  "  it  would  be  very  mean  to  give 
her  up;  but  you  and  I,  as  Aneta's  cousins,  must  be  on  her 
side  in  the  school.  What  I  am  afraid  of  is  that  Maggie  will 
try  to  induce  you  to  join  her  set." 

"  That  shows  how  little  you  know  her,"  said  Merry,  roused 
to  the  defensive.  "  She  explained  everything  to  me  this  after- 
noon, and  said  that  I  certainly  must  belong  to  Aneta." 

"  Did  she?    Well,  I  call  that  splendid,"  said  Cicely. 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

BO-PEEP. 

WHEN  Aneta  found  herself  alone  that  evening  she  stayed 
for  a  short  time  thinking  very  deeply.  She  felt  a  queer  sense 


114  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

of  responsibility  with  regard  to  the  Cardews.  If  Maggie 
imagined  that  it  was  through  her  influence  they  had  come  to 
Aylmer  House,  Aneta  was  positive  that  they  would  never 
have  entered  the  school  but  for  her  and  her  aunt,  Lady  Lysle. 
Besides,  they  were  her  very  own  cousins,  and  she  loved  them 
both  dearly.  She  was  not  especially  anxious  about  Cicely, 
who  was  a  more  ordinary  and  less  enthusiastic  girl  than 
Merry;  but  about  Merry  she  had  some  qualms.  There  was  no 
doubt  whatever  that  the  girl  was  attracted  by  Maggie;  and, 
in  Aneta's  opinion,  Maggie  Rowland  was  in  no  sense  of  the 
word  a  proper  companion  for  her. 

Aneta,  as  she  sat  calmly  by  her  open  window — for  it  was 
not  necessary  to  hurry  to  bed  to-night — thought  much  over 
the  future  which  spread  itself  immediately  in  front  of  her 
and  her  companions.  She  was  naturally  a  very  reserved  girl. 
She  was  born  with  that  exclusiveness  and  reserve  which  a  dis- 
tinguished class  bestows  upon  those  who  belong  to  it.  But 
she  had  in  her  heart  very  wide  sympathies;  and,  like  many 
another  girl  in  her  position,  she  could  be  kind  to  the  poor, 
philanthropic  to  the  last  degree  to  those  in  real  distress,  deny- 
ing herself  for  the  sake  of  those  who  wanted  bread.  Towards 
girls,  however,  who  were  only  a  trifle  below  her  in  the  social 
scale  she  could  be  arbitrary,  haughty,  and  strangely  wanting 
in  sympathy.  Maggie  Howland  was  exactly  the  sort  of  girl 
who  repelled  Aneta.  Nevertheless,  she  was  a  member  of  the 
school;  and  not  only  was  she  a  member  of  the  school,  but  a 
very  special  member.  Had  she  even  been  Janet  Burns  (who 
was  so  clever,  and  as  far  as  learning  was  concerned  carried 
all  before  her),  or  had  she  been  as  brilliant  and  witty  as 
Kathleen  O'Donnell,  Aneta  would  not  have  troubled  herself 
much  over  her.  But  Maggie  was  possessed  of  a  curious  sense 
of  power  which  was  hers  by  heritage,  which  her  father  had 
possessed  before  her,  and  which  caused  him — one  of  the  least 
prepossessing  and  yet  one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of 
his  day — to  be  worshipped  wherever  he  went.  This  power 
was  greater  than  beauty,  greater  than  birth,  greater  than 
genius.  Maggie  had  it,  and  used  it  to  such  effect  that  she  and 
Aneta  divided  the  school  between  them.  Aneta  was  never 
quite  certain  whether  some  of  her  special  friends  would  not 
leave  her  and  go  over  to  Maggie's  side;  but  she  felt  that  she 
did  not  greatly  care  about  this,  provided  she  could  keep  Merry 
and  Cicely  altogether  to  herself. 

After  thinking  for  a  little  time  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
going  to  the  electric  bell,  sounded  it.  After  a  short  delay 
a  servant  appeared. 

"  Mary,"  said  Aneta,  "  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  ask 
Miss  Lucy  if  I  may  speak  to  her  for  a  minute?  " 

"  Yes,  miss,"  replied  Mary,  closing  the  door  behind  her  in 
her  usual  noiseless  fashion. 

In  a  very  few  minutes  Miss  Johnson  entered  Aneta's  room. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  going  to  bed,  dear,"  said  that  good- 
natured  young  woman.  "Can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  115 

"  I  only  want  to  say  something  to  you,  Lucy." 

"  What  is  it,  my  love?  I  do  not  like  to  see  that  our  dear 
Aneta  looks  worried,  but  your  face  almost  wears  that  ex- 
pression." 

"  Well,"  said  Aneta,  "  it  is  just  this:  I  am  a  trifle  worried 
about  a  matter  which  I  hope  I  may  set  right.  It  is  against 
the  rules  for  girls  to  leave  their  rooms  after  they  have  gone 
to  them  for  the  night,  and  it  would  never  do  for  me  to  be  the 
first  to  break  a  rule  at  Aylmer  House.  Nevertheless,  I  do 
want  to  break  it.  May  I,  Miss  Lucy?  " 

. "  Well,  Aneta,  I  do  not  think  that  there'll  be  the  slightest 
difficulty,  for  we  don't  really  begin  school  till  to-morrow. 
What  do  you  wish  to  do,  dear?" 

"  I  want  to  go  and  visit  one  of  my  schoolmates,  and  stay 
with  her  for  a  time." 

"  Of  course  you  may  go,  Aneta.  I  give  you  permission;  but 
don't  remain  too  long,  for  we  get  up  early  to-morrow,  as  to- 
morrow school  really  begins." 

"  I  won't  remain  a  minute  longer  than  I  can  help.  Thank 
you,  Lucy,"  said  Aneta. 

Miss  Johnson  kissed  her  pupil  and  left  the  room. 

A  minute  later  Aneta  Lysle  was  running  down  the  corridor 
in  the  direction  of  the  bedroom  occupied  by  Maggie  Rowland. 
It  was  some  distance  from  her  own  room.  She  knocked  at 
the  door.  She  guessed  somehow  that  Maggie  would  be  still  up. 

Maggie  said,  "  Come  in,"  and  Aneta  entered. 

Maggie  was  in  a  white  dressing-gown,  with  her  thick,  hand- 
some hair  falling  below  her  waist.  Her  hair  was  her  strongest 
point,  and  she  looked  for  the  time  being  almost  pretty. 

"What  do  you  want,  Aneta?"  she  said. 

"  To  speak  to  you,  Maggie." 

"  But  it's  against  the  rules,"  said  Maggie,  drawling  out  her 
words  a  little,  and  giving  Aneta  a  defiant  glance. 

"  No,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  asked  for  permission  to  come  and  see 
you,  and  I  have  obtained  it." 

"  Well,  sit  down,  won't  you?  "  said  Maggie. 

Aneta  availed  herself  of  the  invitation,  and  took  a  chair. 

Maggie  remained  standing. 

"Won't  you  sit  too,  Maggie?"  said  Aneta. 

"  I  don't  particularly  want  to,  but  I  will  if  you  insist  on 
it.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am  a  little  sleepy.  You  won't  keep  me 
long,  will  you?" 

"  That  depends  on  yourself." 

Maggie  opened  her  narrow  eyes.  Then  she  contracted  them 
and  looked  fixedly  at  her  companion.  "  Have  you  come  here 
to  talk  about  Merry  Cardew?  " 

"  Yes,  about  her,  and  other  matters." 

"  Don't  you  trust  me  at  all,  Aneta?  " 

Aneta  looked  full  up  at  the  girl.    "  No,  Maggie,"  she  said. 

"  Do  you  think  when  you  say  so  that  you  speak  kindly?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't,  but  I  can't  help  myelf,"  said  Aneta. 

Maggie  gave  a  faint  yawn.    She  was,  in  reality,  far  too  in- 


116  THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

terested  to  be  really  sleepy.  Suddenly  she  dropped  into  a 
sitting  position  on  the  floor.  "  You  have  me,"  she  said,  "  in 
the  hollow  of  your  hand.  Do  you  mean  to  crush  me?  What 
have  I  done  that  you  should  hate  me  so  much?" 

"  I  sever  said  I  hated  you,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  don't  hate  you, 
but  I  am  exceedingly  anxious  that  you  should  not  have  any 
influence  over  my  two  young  cousins  who  came  here  to-day." 

"  I  thought  we  discussed  that  when  you  were  staying  at 
Meredith  Manor,"  said  Maggie.  "  You  made  me  unhappy 
enough  then,  but  I  gave  you  my  promise." 

"I  was  sorry  to  make  you  unhappy,  Maggie;  and  you  did 
give  me  your  promise;  but  I  have  come  here  to-day  to  know 
why  you  have  broken  it." 

"Broken  it!"  said  Maggie.    "Broken  it!" 

"  Don't  you  understand  me?  "  said  Aneta.  "  You  and  Merry 
were  together  the  greater  part  of  the  evening,  and  even  Cicely 
wondered  where  her  sister  was.  Why  did  you  do  it?  " 

"  Merry  is  my  friend,"  said  Maggie. 

"  I  don't  wish  her  to  be  your  friend." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  can't  help  it,"  said  Maggie.  She  looked 
a  little  insolent,  and  round  her  mouth  there  came  a  dogged  ex- 
pression. After  a  minute  she  said,  "  I  did  want  to  talk  to 
Merry  to-night;  but,  at  the  same  time,  I  most  undoubtedly  did 
not  forget  my  promise  to  you.  I  explained  to  Merry  what  I 
think  she  already  knew:  that  there  were  two  girls  in  the 
school  who  greatly  influence  their  fellows;  in  short,  that  you 
and  I  are  the  two  queens  of  the  school.  But  I  said  that,  com- 
pared to  you,  I  had  a  comparatively  small  number  of  subjects. 
Merry  was  interested,  and  asked  questions,  and  then  I  most 
particularly  explained  to  her  that,  although  I  knew  well  she 
cared  for  me,  and  I  cared  for  her,  she  was  to  be  on  your  side 
in  the  school.  If  you  don't  believe  me,  you  have  but  to  ask 
Merry  herself." 

"  I  have  no  reason  not  to  believe  you,  Maggie,"  said  Aneta, 
"  and  I  am  relieved  that  you  have  spoken  as  you  did  to  Merry. 
But  now  I  want  to  say  something  else.  I  have  thought  of  it 
a  good  deal  during  the  holidays,  and  I  am  firmly  convinced 
that  this  taking  sides,  or  rather  making  parties,  in  a  school 
is  pernicious,  especially  in  such  a  small  school  as  ours.  I 
am  willing  to  give  up  my  queendom,  if  you,  on  your  part, 
will  give  yours  up.  I  want  us  all  to  be  in  unity — every  one 
of  us — all  striving  for  the  good  of  the  school  and  for  the 
happiness  and  welfare  each  of  the  other.  If  you  will  agree 
to  this  I  will  myself  speak  to  Mrs.  Ward  to-morrow." 

"  Mrs.  Ward!  "  said  Maggie.    "  What  has  she  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  I  want  to  consult  with  her,  so  that  she  may  be  the  queen 
of  the  school — not  one  girl  or  two  girls.  She  is  so  clever,  so 
young,  so  resourceful,  that  she  will  more  than  make  up  to  us 
for  the  little  we  lose  in  this  matter.  But,  of  course,  there 
is  no  manner  of  use  in  my  resigning  my  queendom  if  you  won't 
resign  yours." 

"I  will  never  do  it,"  said  Maggie — "never!    Two  queens 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  117 

in  the  school  means  little  or  nothing  at  all.  All  it  does  mean 
is  that  I  have  special  friends  whom  I  can  influence,  and 
whom  I  love  to  influence,  and  you  have  special  friends  whom 
you  love  to  influence.  Well,  go  on  influencing  them  as  hard 
as  ever  you  can,  and  I  will  do  the  same  with  my  friends. 
Your  cousins  will  belong  to  you.  I  could,  I  believe,  have 
won  Merry  Cardew  to  my  side,  but  I  am  not  going  to  do  so." 

"  It  would  be  very  unwise  of  you,"  said  Aneta  in  a  low 
tone.  "  Very  well,  Maggie,"  she  added  after  a  pause,  "  if  you 
won't  give  up  being  queen  in  the  minds  of  a  certain  number 
of  girls,  I  must,  of  course,  continue  my  influence  on  the  other 
side.  It's  a  great  pity,  for  we  might  all  work  together." 

"  We  never  could  work  together,"  said  Maggie  with  passion. 

"  It  is  but  to  talk  to  you,  Aneta,  to  know  how  you  despise 
and  hate  me." 

"  I  neither  despise  nor  hate  you,  Maggie." 

"  Well,  I  despise  and  hate  you,  so  I  suppose  it  comes  to  the 
same  thing." 

"  I  am  very,  very  sorry,  Maggie.  Some  day,  perhaps,  you 
will  know  me  as  I  really  am." 

"  I  know  you  now  as  you  really  are — eaten  up  with  pride 
of  birth,  and  with  no  sympathy  at  all  for  girls  a  trifle  poorer 
than  yourself." 

"  You  speak  with  cruelty,  and  I  am  sorry." 

To  Aneta's  astonishment,  Maggie's  face  underwent  a  queer 
change.  It  puckered  up  in  an  alarming  manner,  and  the  next 
moment  the  girl  burst  into  tears. 

The  sight  of  Maggie's  tears  immediately  changed  Aneta 
Lysle's  attitude.  Those  tears  were  genuine.  Whether  they 
were  caused  by  anger  or  by  sorrow  she  did  not  stop  to  dis- 
criminate. The  next  minute  she  was  down  on  her  knees  by 
the  other  girl  and  had  swept  her  young  arms  round  Maggie's 
neck. 

"  Maggie,  Maggie,  what  is  it?  Oh,  if  you  would  only  under- 
stand me! " 

"Don't! — don't  touch  me!"  said  Maggie.  "I  am  a  miser- 
able girl!" 

"And  I  have  hurt  you,  poor  Maggie! "  said  Aneta.  "Oh,  I 
am  terribly  sorry!  Sit  here  now,  and  let  me  comfort  you." 

"  Oh !  I  can't,  Aneta.  You  don't  understand  me — not  a 
bit." 

"Better  than  you  think,  perhaps;  and  I  am  terribly  sorry 
you  are  troubled.  Oh,  perhaps  I  know.  I  was  told  to-night 
that  your  mother  had  married  again.  You  are  unhappy  about 
that? " 

Maggie  immediately  dried  her  fast-falling  tears.  She  felt 
that  she  was  in  danger.  If  Aneta  found  out,  or  if  Mrs.  Ward 
found  out,  who  Maggie's  stepfather  was,  she  would  certainly 
not  be  allowed  to  stay  at  Aylmer  House.  This  was  her  dread 
of  all  dreads,  and  she  had  so  managed  matters  with  her 
mother  that  Mrs.  Ward  knew  nothing  at  all  of  Mrs.  Howland's 
change  of  name. 


118  THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

"  Yes,  my  mother  is  married  again,"  said  Maggie.  "  She  is 
a  rich  woman  now;  but  the  fact  is,  I  dearly  loved  my  own 
father,  and — it  hurt  me  very  much  to  see  another  put  into 
his  place." 

"Of  course  it  did,"  said  Aneta,  with  deep  sympathy;  "it 
would  have  driven  me  nearly  wild.  Does  Mrs.  Ward  know 
that  your  mother  is  married  again,  Maggie?  " 

"Well,  I  haven't  told  her;  and,  please,  Aneta,  will  you 
promise  me  not  to  do  so?" 

"But  is  there  any  occasion  to  keep  it  a  secret,  dear?" 

"  I  would  so  much  rather  she  did  not  know.  She  received 
me  here  as  Maggie  Rowland.  I  am  Maggie  Howland  still;  my 
mother  having  changed  her  name  makes  no  difference,  except, 
indeed,  that  she  is  very  well  off,  whereas  she  was  poor." 

"  Well,  that  of  course  is  a  comfort  to  you,"  said  Aneta. 
"  Perhaps  by-and-by  you  will  learn  to  be  glad  that  your 
mother  has  secured  the  care  of  a  good  husband.  I  am  told  that 
she  has  married  one  of  those  very  nice  Martyns  who  live  in 
Warwickshire.  Is  that  true?  " 

Maggie  nodded.  She  hated  herself  after  she  had  given  that 
inclination  of  her  head;  but  she  had  done  it  now,  and  must 
abide  by  it.  To  own  Martin  the  grocer  as  a  stepfather  was 
beyond  her  power. 

Aneta  did  not  think  it  specially  necessary  to  worry  about 
Maggie's  mother  and  her  new  husband.  She  said  that  the 
whole  thing  was  Maggie's  own  affair;  and,  after  trying  to  com- 
fort the  girl  for  a  little  longer,  she  kissed  Maggie,  and  went 
to  her  own  room.  When  there,  she  went  at  once  to  bed  and 
fell  fast  asleep. 

But  Maggie  sat  for  a  long  time  by  her  open  window.  "  What 
an  awful  and  ridiculous  position  I  have  put  myself  in!"  she 
thought.  "  The  Martyns  of  The  Meadows  and  Bo-peep  of 
Laburnum  Villa  to  be  connected!  I  could  almost  scream  with 
laughter  if  I  were  not  also  inclined  to  scream  with  terror. 
What  an  awful  idea  to  get  into  people's  heads,  and  now  I  have 
confirmed  it!  Of  course  I  shall  be  found  out,  and  things  will 
be  worse  than  ever." 

Before  Maggie  went  to  bed  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  brief 
note  to  her  mother.  She  addressed  it  when  written  to  Mrs. 
Martyn  (spelt  with  a  "  y  "),  Laburnum  Villa,  Clapham.  Mag- 
gie had  seen  Laburnum  Villa,  and  regarded  it  as  one  of  the 
most  poky  suburban  residences  she  had  ever  had  the  pleasure 
of  entering.  The  whole  house  was  odiously  cheap  and  com- 
mon, and  in  her  heart  poor  Maggie  preferred  Tildy  and  Mrs. 
Ross,  and  the  fusty,  musty  lodgings  at  Shepherd's  Bush. 

Her  note  to  her  mother  was  very  brief : 

"  I  am  back  at  school,  and  quite  happy.  Tell  Mr.  Martin,  if 
he  should  happen  to  write  to  me,  to  spell  his  name  with  a 
*  y,'  and  please  spell  your  name  with  a  '  y.'  Please  tell  Mr. 
Martin  that  I  will  explain  the  reason  of  this  when  we  meet. 
He  is  so  good  to  me,  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  him  enough." 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  119 

Maggie  managed  the  next  day  to  post  this  letter  unknown  to 
her  fellows,  and  in  course  of  time  a  remarkable  post-card 
arrived  for  her.  It  was  dated  from  Laburnum  Villa,  Clapham, 
and  was  written  in  a  sprawly  but  business-like  hand: 

"  No  '  y's  '  for  me,  thank  you. — BO-PEEP." 

Very  fortunately,  Maggie  received  her  card  when  none  of 
her  schoolfellows  were  present;  but  it  was  certainly  the 
reverse  of  reassuring. 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE   LEISURE   HOURS. 

SCHOOL-LIFE  began  in  real  earnest,  and  school-life  at  Ayl- 
mer  House  was  so  stimulating,  so  earnest,  so  invigorating, 
that  all  that  was  best  in  each  girl  was  brought  to  the  fore. 
There  was  an  admirable  time-table,  which  allowed  the  girls 
periods  for  play  as  well  as  the  most  suitable  hours  for  work. 
In  addition,  each  day  there  were  what  were  called  the  "  leisure 
hours."  These  were  from  five  to  seven  o'clock  each  evening. 
The  leisure  hours  began  immediately  after  tea,  and  lasted 
until  the  period  when  the  girls  went  to  their  rooms  to  dress 
for  dinner.  During  these  two  hours  they  were  allowed  to  do 
precisely  what  they  pleased. 

Mrs.  Ward  was  most  particular  that  no  teacher  should  in- 
terfere with  her  girls  during  the  leisure  hours.  From  the 
very  first  she  had  insisted  on  this  period  of  rest  and  absolute 
relaxation  from  all  work.  Work  was  strictly  forbidden  in 
the  school  from  five  to  seven,  and  it  was  during  that  period 
that  the  queens  of  the  school  generally  exercised  their  power. 
Aneta  then  usually  found  herself  surrounded  by  her  satel- 
lites in  one  corner  of  the  girls'  own  special  sitting-room,  and 
Maggie  was  in  a  similar  position  at  the  farther  end.  Aneta's 
satellites  were  always  quiet,  sober,  and  well-behaved;  Mag- 
gie's, it  is  sad  to  relate,  were  a  trifle  rowdy.  There  is  some- 
thing else  also  painful  to  relate — namely,  that  Merry  Cardew 
cast  longing  eyes  from  time  to  time  in  the  direction  of 
that  portion  of  the  room  where  Maggie  and  her  friends  clus- 
tered. 

The  girls  had  been  about  a  fortnight  at  school,  and  work 
was  in  full  swing,  when  Kathleen,  springing  from  her  seat, 
said  abruptly,  "  Queen,  I  want  to  propose  something." 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  asked  Maggie,  who  was  lying  back 
against  a  pile  of  cushions  and  supplying  herself  daintily  from 
a  box  of  chocolates  which  her  adorers  had  purchased  for  her. 

"  I  want  us  all,"  said  Kathleen,  "  to  give  a  party  to  the  other 
queen  and  her  subjects;  and  I  want  it  to  be  about  the  very 
jolliest  entertainment  that  can  be  found.  We  must,  of  course, 
ask  Mrs.  Ward's  leave;  but  she  is  certain  to  give  it." 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  is,"  said  Maggie. 

"  Oh,  she  is — certain  sure,"  said  Kathleen.  "  May.  I  go  and 
ask  her  now?  " 


120  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

"Do  you  dare?"  said  Rosamond  Dacre,  looking  at  Kitty's 
radiant  face  with  some  astonishment. 

"  Dare!  "  cried  Irish  Kitty.  "  I  don't  know  the  meaning  of 
anything  that  I  don't  dare.  I  am  off.  I'll  bring  you  word  in  a 
few  minutes,  girls."  She  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

Janet  Burns  looked  after  her,  slightly  raising  her  brows. 
Rosamond  Dacre  and  the  two  Roaches  began  to  sound  her 
praises.  "She  is  sweet,  isn't  she?" 

"Yes."  said  Clara;  "and  I  do  so  love  her  pretty  Irish 
brogue." 

"  Mother  tells  me,"  said  Janet,  who  was  Scotch,  "  that  Irish 
characters  are  not  much  g9od — they're  not  reliable,  I  mean." 

"  Oh,  what  a  shame!  "  said  Matty  Roache. 

*•  I  don't  think  we  need  discuss  characters,"  said  Maggie. 
"  I  don't  know  a  great  deal  about  the  Irish,  but  I  do  know  that 
Kitty  is  a  darling." 

"Yes,  so  she  is — one  of  the  sweetest  girls  in  the  whole 
school,"  said  Molly  Tristram,  who  was  quite  as  excited  as 
Kathleen  herself  with  regard  to  the  party  scheme. 

Meantime  Kitty  found  herself  tapping  at  Mrs.  Ward's  pri- 
vate door.  Mrs.  Ward  said,  "  Come  in,"  and  the  pretty  girl, 
with  her  great  dark-blue  eyes  and  wild-rose  complexion,  en- 
tered abruptly. 

"  Well,  Kathleen?  "  said  Mrs.  Ward  in  her  pleasant  tone. 

"  Oh,  please,  Mrs.  Ward,  I've  come  with  such  a  lovely 
scheme." 

"And  you  want  me  to  help  you?" 

"  Oh  yes,  please,  do  say  you  will  before  I  let  you  into  the 
secret! " 

"  I  can't  do  that,  dear;  you  must  just  tell  me  what  is  in 
your  mind,  and  be  satisfied  with  my  decision.  The  only  thing 
that  I  can  assure  you  beforehand  is  that  if  it  is  a  workable 
scheme,  and  likely  to  give  you  great  pleasure,  I  will  do  my 
best  to  entertain  it." 

"  Then  we're  certain  to  have  it — certain,"  said  Kathleen. 

"  It  was  I  who  thought  of  it.  You  will  forgive  me  if  I  speak 
out  just  as  plainly  as  possible?" 

"  Of  course,  Kathleen  dear." 

"Well,  you  know  you  are  the  head-mistress." 

'  That  is  scarcely  news  to  me,  my  child." 

"  And  people,  as  a  rule,"  continued  Kathleen,  "  respect  their 
head-mistress." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  with  a  smile,  "  have  you  come 
here,  Kathleen,  to  say  that  you  don't  respect  me?" 

"Respect  you!"  said  Kathleen.  "We  do  a  jolly  lot  more 
than  that.  We  adore  you!  we  love  you!  You're — you're  a 
sort  of — of  mother  to  us." 

"  That  is  what  I  want  to  be,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  with  fervor, 
and  she  took  the  girl's  hand  and  smoothed  it  gently. 

"  I  often  want  to  hug  you,  and  that's  a  fact,"  said  Kathleen. 

"  You  may  kiss  me  now  if  you  like,  Kitty." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Ward!" 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  121 

Kitty  bent  down  and  bestowed  a  reverent  kiss  on  that  sweet 
face. 

"  I  have  permitted  you  to  kiss  me,  Kitty,"  said  Mrs.  Ward, 
"  in  order  to  show  you  that  I  sympathize  with  you,  as  I  do 
with  all  my  dear  girls.  But  now,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"  Well,  the  fact  is  this.  We  want,  during  the  '  leisure 
hours '  to  give  a  party." 

"  Is  that  all?    Do  you  all  want  to  give  a  party?  " 

"  Our  side  wants  to  give  a  party,  and  we  want  to  invite  the 
other  side  to  it." 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  '  our  side '  and  '  the  other 
side '  ?  " 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Ward!  you  know — of  course  you  know — that 
Aneta  and  Maggie  divide  the  school." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  after  a  pause,  "  that  Aneta  has 
considerable  influence,  and  that  Maggie  also  has  influence." 

"  Those  two  girls  divide  the  school,"  said  Kathleen,  "  the 
rest  of  us  follpw  them.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  only  follow 
our  leaders  in  the  leisure  hours;  but  as  they  come  every  day 
a  good  deal  can  be  done  in  that  time,  can't  it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Ward,  and  her  tone  was  not  exactly  cheer- 
ful. "On  which  side  are  you,  Kitty?" 

"  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Ward,  of  course,  on  Maggie's!  Do  you  think 
that  a  girl  like  me,  with  all  my  spirit  and  that  irresistible 
sort  of  fun  always  bubbling  up  in  me,  could  stand  the  stuck- 
ups?" 

"  Kitty,  you  have  no  right  to  speak  of  any  girls  in  the  school 
by  such  an  offensive  term." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Kitty.  "  I  ought  not  to  have  said  it  to 
you.  But  they  are  stuck-ups;  they  really  are." 

"  And  what  do  you  call  yourself?  " 

"  Oh,  the  live-and-let-live — that's  our  title.  But  it's  only 
quite  among  ourselves,  and  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have 
said  it." 

"  I  will  never  repeat  what  you  have  told  me  in  confidence, 
dear.  But  now  for  your  request?  " 

"  Well,  we  of  Maggie's  set  want  to  invite  the  Aneta  set  to 
a  sort  of  general  party.  We  should  like  it  to  be  on  the 
half-holiday,  if  possible.  We  want  to  give  them  a  right  royal 
entertainment  in  order  to  knock  some  of  their  stuck-upness 
out  of  them.  We  wish  for  your  leave  in  the  matter." 

"  You  must  describe  your  entertainment  a  little  more  fully." 

"  I  can't;  for  we  haven't  really  and  truly  planned  it  all  out 
yet.  But  I  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  If  you  give  us  leave 
to  have  the  party,  we  will  ask  Queen  Aneta  and  her  satellites 
if  possible  this  very  evening,  and  then  we'll  submit  our  pro- 
gramme to  you.  Now,  may  we  do  this,  or  may  we  not?" 

"  Who  sent  you  to  me,  Kathleen?  " 

"  I  came  of  my  own  very  self,  but  of  course  the  others  ap- 
proved.   We  have  no  intention  of  doing  shabby  things  in  the 
dark,  as  they  do  in  some  schools.     That  would  be  unfair 
to  you." 
sk 


122  THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

Mrs.  Ward  thought  a  little  longer.  "  I  will  give  you  the 
required  permission,"  she  said,  "  on  one  condition." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Ward,  darling!  what  is  that?" 

"  You  can  have  your  party  on  Saturday  week,  and  I  will 
give  you  from  early  in  the  afternoon  until  bedtime  to  en- 
joy it." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Ward,  you  are  too  angelic ! " 

"  Stop  a  minute.  You  may  not  care  for  it  so  much  when 
I  have  finished  what  I  have  got  to  say." 

"What  is  it,  dear  Mrs.  Ward?" 

"  It  is  this :  that  you  ask  me  too  as  one  of  your  guests." 

"Oh!  oh!"  said  Kathleen.  Her  expretesive  face  changed 
from  red  to  white  and  then  to  red  again.  Her  eyes  brimmed 
over  with  laughter,  and  then  as  suddenly  filled  with  tears. 
"  But  would  you — would  you  like  it?  " 

"Yes,  and  I  don't  want  to  destroy  your  pleasure;  but  I 
presume  you  will  have  a  sort  of  supper  or  an  entertainment 
which  will  include  refreshments.  Let  me  assist  you  with 
the  expense  of  your  supper,  and  may  I  be  present  at  it  as 
one  of  your  guests?  I  will  promise  to  leave  soon  after  supper, 
and  not  to  appear  until  supper.  How  will  that  do?  " 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  just  heavenly!  It  will  give  such  dis- 
tinction. I  know  the  girls  will  love  it." 

"  I  think  I  can  make  myself  pleasant  to  you  all,"  said  Mrs. 
Ward,  "  and  I  should  like  to  be  there." 

"  But  as  to  paying  anything,  Mrs.  Ward,  you  will  come  as 
our  guest,  and  you  know  we  have  most  of  us  plenty  of  money. 
Please,  please,  let  us  do  the  entertaining." 

"  Very  well,  dear,  I  will  not  press  that  point.  I  hope  I 
have  made  you  happy,  Kathleen." 

"Oh!  you  have — very,  very  happy  indeed.  And  Saturday 
week  is  to  be  the  day?  " 

"Yes,  Kathleen." 

Kathleen  bent  down;  took  one  of  Mrs.  Ward's  hands,  and 
kissed  it.  Then  she  skipped  out  of  the  room  and  flew  back 
to  her  companions.  They  were  waiting  for  her  in  a  state  of 
suppressed  eagerness. 

"Well,  Kathleen— Kitty— Kit,  what's  the  news?"  asked 
Maggie. 

Room  was  made  for  Kathleen  in  the  center  of  the  group. 

"We  have  won!  We  may  do  it!"  she  said,  speaking  in  a 
low  tone.  "Oh,  she's — she's  like  no  one  else!  I  don't  know 
how  you  will  take  it,  girls;  but  if  you're  not  just  delighted 
you  ought  to  be.  Why,  what  do  you  think?  She  wants  to 
come  herself." 

"Mrs.  Ward!"  said  Maggie  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  just  to  supper.  She  says  she  will  come — she  wishes 
to  come — that  we're  to  invite  her;  in  fact,  she  makes  it  a 
sine  qud  non.  She  will  go  away  again  after  supper,  and 
we're  to  have  the  whole  glorious  day,  next  Saturday  week, 
from  two  in  the  afternoon  until  bedtime.  Oh,  sha'n't  we 
have  fun! " 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  123 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Maggie.  "  It's  much  better  even  than 
I  thought.  I  will  write  the  letters. of  invitation  immediately." 

"But  \vhy  should  you  write  a  whole  lot  of  letters?"  said 
Kathleen.  "  You  are  one  queen.  Write  to  the  other  queen 
and  mention  that  Mrs.  Ward  is  coming." 

There  was  nothing  like  the  present  time  for  making  ar- 
rangements; and  Maggie  wrote  on  a  sheet  of  headed  note- 
paper  provided  for  her  by  her  satellites  the  following  words : 

"  Queen  Maggie  presents  her  compliments  to  Queen  Aneta, 
and  begs  for  the  pleasure  of  her  company  with  all  her  subjects 
on  Saturday  the  15th  of  October,  to  an  entertainment  from 
three  to  nine  o'clock.  She  hopes  that  the  whole  school  will 
be  present,  and  writes  in  the  names  of  her  own  subjects 
as  well  as  of  herself. 

"  P.S. — Mrs.  Ward  has  most  kindly  promised  to  attend." 

This  letter  was  subjected  to  the  approval  of  the  group  of 
girls  who  surrounded  Maggie.  It  was  then  addressed  to 
"  Queen  Aneta,"  and  Kathleen  crossed  the  room  with  it  and 
dropped  it,  there  and  then,  into  Aneta  Lysle's  lap. 

It  caused  very  deep  amazement  in  the  hearts  of  all  the 
girls  who  belonged  to  Aneta's  party,  and  it  is  highly  probable 
that  they  might  have  refused  to  accept  the  invitation  but 
for  that  magical  postscript,  "  Mrs.  Ward  has  most  kindly 
promised  to  attend."  But  there  was  no  withstanding  that 
patent  fact,  as  Mrs.  Ward  knew  very  well  when  she  made 
the  proposal  to  Kathleen. 

After  a  lapse  of  about  twenty  minutes,  Cicely  Cardew 
crossed  the  room  and  laid  the  answer  to  Maggie's  note  in 
her  lap: 

"Queen  Aneta  and  her  subjects  have  much  pleasure  in 
accepting  Queen  Maggie's  invitation  for  the  15th  inst." 

"Hip,  hip,  hurrah!"  cried  Kathleen.  "The  thing's  ar- 
ranged, and  we'll  have  about  the  jolliest  flare-up  and  the 
most  enticing  time  that  girls  ever  had  at  any  school."  She 
sprang  from  her  seat,  and  began  tossing  a  book  which  had 
lain  in  her  lap  into  the  air,  catching  it  again.  In  short,  the 
subjects  of  the  two  queens  broke  up  on  the  spot  and  chatted 
gaily  together,  and  Maggie  and  her  subjects  could  not  be 
induced  to  say  one  word  of  what  was  to  take  place  on  the 
15th  of  October. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  thought  Aneta  to  herself.  "  Why  does 
Mrs.  Ward  come?  But,  of  course,  as  she  comes  we  must 
all  come." 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE  TREASURE. 

MAGGIE  had  by  no  means  forgotten  her  promise  to  the  Tris- 
tram girls  to  give  them  a  bracelet  apiece.  It  was  easy  to  do 
this,  for  they  were  her  very  special  friends  in  the  school.  The 


124  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

fact  is  that  Molly  and  Belle  had  a  somewhat  peculiar  po:  :!  i  n 
at  Ay  liner  House,  for  they  were  not  only  Maggie's  speci;:i 
friends,  but  also  the  undoubted  friends  and  allies  of  Cicely, 
Merry,  and  also  of  Aneta.  But  they  were  such  good-humored, 
good-natured,  pleasant  sort  of  girls — so  lively,  so  jolly — that 
they  could  take  up  a  position  with  ease  which  would  oppress 
and  distress  other  people. 

When  Maggie  presented  them  with  their  bracelets  they 
were  in  wild  raptures,  accepting  them  gleefully,  and  on  oc- 
casions when  ornaments  were  permitted  to  be  worn — which, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  only  in  the  leisure  hours — they  in- 
variably had  them  on  their  arms. 

But  other  girls  noticed  them,  and  one  and  all  admired  them 
immensely. 

"  Oh,  I  have  others,"  said  Maggie  in  a  careless  tone;  "  many 
more.  My  dear  father  was  a  great  traveler,  and  these  are 
some  of  the  treasures  he  brought  from  the  East." 

Maggie  had  by  no  means  forgotten  to  bring  her  two  boxes 
of  jewellery  to  Aylmer  House.  These  lay  at  the  bottom  of 
her  little  trunk,  which  was,  it  is  true,  stowed  away  in  the 
box-rpom.  But  as  the  girls  were  at  liberty  to  go  there  for 
anything  they  especially  required,  she  was  not  troubled  on 
this  account. 

There  came  a  day,  shortly  after  the  great  party  was  ar- 
ranged, when  the  rain  poured  incessantly,  and  some  of  the 
girls  were  a  little  restless.  Molly  and  Isabel  were  wearing  their 
queer  Oriental  bracelets.  Kathleen  suddenly  caught  sight 
of  them,  and  demanded  in  an  eager  tone  that  Maggie  should 
exhibit  her  treasures.  Maggie,  only  too  pleased  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  which  glorified  herself,  immediately  complied. 
She  ran  to  find  Miss  Lucy  in  order  to  obtain  the  key  of  the 
box-room. 

"  What  do  you  want  it  for,  dear?  "  said  Miss  Johnson  in  her 
pleasant  voice. 

"  I  have  two  boxes  in  the  bottom  of  one  of  my  trunks, 
Miss  Lucy;  they  are  full  of  curiosities  which  my  father  col- 
lected from  time  to  time.  The  girls  want  to  see  them.  Do 
you  mind  my  showing  them?" 

"  Of  course* not,  Maggie;  but  if  they  are  of  any  value  you  had 
better  give  them  to  Mrs.  Ward  to  take  care  of  for  you." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Maggie,  "  I  don't  know  really  whether  they 
are  of  value  or  not."  She  got  rather  red  as  she  spoke. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  them  myself,"  said  Miss  Johnson. 
"  I  know  a  little  bit  about  gems  and  curios." 

"Certainly,  Miss  Lucy;  do  come,"  said  Maggie.  "We're 
in  our  sitting-room,  and  I  shall  be  only  too  delighted  to 
show  them  to  you." 

Maggie  fetched  down  her  two  precious  boxes,  and  soon  she 
was  surrounded,  not  only  by  her  own  special  satellites,  but 
by  every  girl  in  the  school.  They  were  all  loud  in  their 
expressions  of  rapture  at  the  unique  and  lovely  things  which 
she  exhibited  to  them. 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  125 

Kathleen,  as  usual,  was  quick  in  suggestion.  "  Would  not 
Mrs.  Ward  love  to  see  them?"  she  said. 

"  I  am  sure  she  would,"  remarked  Miss  Johnson. — "  I  hadn't 
the  least  idea,  Maggie,  that  you  had  such  treasures  in  those 
old  tin  boxes.  They  must  be  carefully  put  away  in  the  safe 
for  you.  My  dear  girl,  they're  worth  a  great  deal  of  money." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  suppose  they  are,"  said  Maggie,  trying  to 
speak  carelessly,  although  she  by  no  means  wished  to  part 
with  her  treasures. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  safd  Kathleen.  "  Can't  we  make  an  ex- 
hibition of  them  on  the  day?  " 

"Yes,  why  not?"  said  Molly  and  Isabel.  "That  would  be 
quite  lovely." 

"  Oh  yes,  do! — do,  Maggie  darling! "  said  Merry  Cardew. 

Maggie  at  once  agreed;  and  Miss  Johnson  said,  "  Now,  if 
you  will  put  them  all  back  in  their  boxes  I  will  take  them 
and  lock  them  into  the  safe  myself.  I  shouldn't  have  an  easy 
moment  if  I  thought  such  valuable  things  were  in  one  of 
your  school-trunks." 

"Oh I"  said  Maggie,  looking  up  with  flushed  cheeks  and 
bright  eyes,  "  please — please  let  me  keep  them  until  after 
our  party.  Then  we  will  consult  Mrs.  Ward,  and  she  will 
tell  me  what  to  do." 

"  If  you  must  keep  them,  then,  Maggie,"  said  Miss  Johnson, 
"  you  had  better  have  them  in  your  own  bedroom.  They 
would  be  at  least  safe  there.  Put  them  into  your  locked 
drawer,  dear;  I  think  it  will  hold  both  these  boxes." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Maggie.  She  put  the  ten 
bracelets  into  their  tin  box,  and  the  necklets  and  other  curios 
into  the  other,  locked  each,  and  took  them  upstairs.  "It 
would  never,  never  do,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  for  me  to  lose 
control  of  these  precious  things.  I  am  almost  sorry  now 
that  I  allowed  the  girls  to  tempt  me  to  show  them." 

After  a  few  minutes  she  came  downstairs.  Her  stepfather's 
allowance  of  pocket-money  was  certainly  not  ample,  and  she 
knew  that  at  the  party  which  was  to  be  so  specially  dis- 
tinguished she  must  give,  if  she  wished  to  keep  up  her  pres- 
tige in  the  school,  a  lion's  share  towards  the  expenses.  There 
was  a  quaint  little  brooch  in  one  of  her  boxes  containing 
one  large  ruby  and  set  with  diamonds  which  she  intended 
to  sell  in  order  to  provide  herself  with  funds.  But  what 
use  would  any  of  her  treasures  be  if  they  were  consigned 
to  the  safe  at  Aylmer  House? 

After  a  great  deal  of  consultation,  it  was  resolved  that  the 
girls  were  to  meet  in  their  own  special  sitting-room  at  four 
o'clock,  where  tea  and  light  refreshments  were  to  be  pro- 
vided by  Queen  Maggie  and  her  subjects.  Afterwards  they 
were  to  play  games,  have  recitations,  and  amuse  themselves 
in  different  ways  until  five  o'clock;  when  a  curtain  which 
would  be  put  across  a  portion  of  the  room  would  be  raised, 
and  tableaux  vivants,  in  which  Maggie,  Kathleen,  and  both 
the  Tristram  girls,  who  were  all  adaptable  for  this  purpose, 


126  THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

were  to  take  special  parts.  The  tableaux  were  under  the 
management  of  Janet  Burns,  who  was  exceedingly  clever,  and 
had  studied  the  scenes — which  she  took  from  different  epi- 
sodes in  Scott's  novels — with  great  care.  The  rehearsing 
for  the  tableaux  was  a  little  difficult,  but  this  was  done  each 
evening  after  tea,  when  Maggie  and  her  subjects  had  the 
sitting-room  to  themselves. 

Immediately  after  the  tableaux  there  would  be  that  wonder- 
ful supper,  at  which  Mrs.  Ward  was  to  be  the  principal  guest, 
and  then  the  happy  evening  would  end  with  all  sorts  of 
dances  and  frolics. 

Now,  all  these  things  would  cost  money,  and  it  was  arranged, 
after  brief  consultation,  that  each  girl  was  to  subscribe  in 
an  equal  ratio  towards  the  proposed  entertainment.  Janet, 
who  had  a  head  for  figures  as  well  as  a  taste  for  tableaux 
vivants,  suggested  that,  to  do  the  entertainment  properly, 
they  would  have  to  expend  something  like  fifteen  shillings 
each.  This  was  immediately  agreed  upon,  and  even  the  Tris- 
trams  did  not  feel  embarrassed  by  the  amount  which  was 
decided  upon,  for  Mr.  Tristram  was  wise  in  his  generation, 
and  would  not  send  his  girls  to  an  expensive  school  if  he 
could  not  give  them  a  sufficient  supply  of  pocket-money  to 
make  them  feel  independent.  The  only  person  who  was 
short  of  funds  on  this  occasion  was  Maggie,  for  her  step- 
father had  arranged  that  she  was  to  receive  her  allowance 
at  the  end  of  the  term,  not  at  the  beginning.  He  had  given 
her  a  few  shillings  to  go  to  school  with;  but  these  she  had 
already  spent  on  chocolates,  which  were  considered  essential 
during  the  leisure  hours.  It  is  true  that  Mrs.  Ward  would 
have  advanced  a  little  money  to  Maggie,  but  Maggie  could 
not  bear  to  ask  her.  She  had  a  great  dislike  to  the  subject 
of  money  being  mentioned  in  Mrs.  Ward's  presence.  She 
was  afraid  beyond  everything  else  that  the  fact  of  her  being 
received  at  such  a  select  school  for  forty  pounds  a  year  might 
reach  the  ears  of  her  fellow-pupils.  What  more  easy  than 
to  sell  that  charming  little  Oriental  brooch,  which  was  one  of 
the  treasures  in  one  of  those  tin  boxes?  But  Maggie  could 
riot  manage  this  in  Miss  Lucy's  presence,  and  it  was  quite 
against  the  rules  at  Aylmer  House  for  any  girl  to  go  shopping 
or  even  to  leave  the  house  unacc9mpanied. 

On  one  or  two  previous  occasions  Maggie  had,  however, 
managed  to  evade  this  rule  without  being  found  out,  and  she 
thought  she  could  do  so  now.  She  planned  the  whole  thing 
rather  cleverly.  She  had  a  room  to  herself;  which  of  course 
made  it  easier  for  her,  and  there  were  always  the  leisure 
hours.  She  made  up  her  mind  to  feign  headache  or  some  slight 
indisposition,  to  go  downstairs  by  the  back  way,  and  sell  her 
brooch  on  a  certain  afternoon  during  the  leisure  hours.  She 
must  do  it  quickly,  for  the  girls  had  proposed  to  put  the 
necessary  money  for  the  entertainment  into  a  bag  on  a  cer- 
tain Tuesday.  Maggie  must,  therefore,  go  out  on  Monday  iu 
order  to  sell  her  brooch.  Her  absence  from  the  little  party 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  127 

in  the  girls'  sitting-room  was  explained  by  Molly  Tristram, 
who  said  that  Maggie  was  upstairs  lying  down.  No  one 
troubled  to  make  any  comment  with  regard  to  this.  Any 
girl  might  have  a  headache,  and  Mrs.  Ward  did  not  wish  her 
girls  to  be  catechised  as  to  how  they  spent  their  leisure 
hours.  Besides,  Janet  Burns  was  occupying  all  their  atten- 
tion with  the  tableaux  vivants,  Queen  Aneta's  girls  most  good- 
naturedly  leaving  them  the  sitting-room  to  themselves  for 
this  purpose. 

Maggie,  in  her  distant  bedroom,  felt  the  quiet  in  the  house. 
She  had  been  lying  down;  now  she  rose  noiselessly.  This 
was  the  time  when  the  servants  had  their  tea,  when  Mrs. 
Ward  was  busy  writing  letters  or  resting  in  her  own  sitting- 
room,  when  Lucy  Johnson  and  the  other  governesses  were 
either  reposing  in  their  bedrooms,  or  were  out,  or  were  read- 
ing. There  was,  of  course,  the  chance  that  Maggie  might 
meet  some  one;  but,  having  calculated  all  possibilities,  she 
thought  that  she  could  most  likely  get  out  unobserved. 

During  her  expeditions  with  Miss  Lucy  Johnson  she  had 
noticed  a  jeweller's  shop  not  far  away,  and  resolved  to  go 
to  him  with  her  precious  brooch.  It  was  a  very  respectable 
shop,  and  she  was  certain  he  would  give  her  fair  value. 
She  could  be  back  again  before  she  was  missed,  and,  in  fact, 
could  join  her  companions  in  the  girls'  sitting-room  long 
before  the  leisure  hours  had  expired.  The  days  were  now 
getting  very  short,  but  this  fact  was  in  Maggie's  favor  rather 
than  otherwise. 

She  ran  downstairs  unnoticed  by  any  one,  opened  a  side- 
door  which  was  used  as  a  tradesmen's  entrance,  and  got  into 
the  street.  Then,  putting  wings  to  her  feet,  she  quickly 
turned  the  corner,  left  the  square  where  Aylmer  House  was 
situated,  and  reached  the  jeweller's  shop.  She  entered.  There 
were  a  few  people  standing  by  the  counter;  and  the  jeweller, 
a  certain  Mr.  Pearce,  was  attending  to  them.  Maggie  felt 
impatient.  She  awaited  her  turn  as  best  she  could.  How  she 
disliked  those  showy-looking  people  who  were  purchasing 
goods  of  some  value,  whereas  she  only  wanted  to  sell!  She 
could  scarcely  restrain  her  great  impatience,  and  was  relieved 
when  another  shopman  came  forward. 

He  asked  her  what  he  could  do  for  her.  She  immediately 
showed  him  the  quaint  little  brooch  set  with  rubies  and 
diamonds. 

"  I  want  to  sell  this,"  said  Maggie,  speaking  abruptly  and 
the  color  flaming  into  her  cheeks.  "  What  will  you  give  me 
for  it?  " 

U0h  my!"  suddenly  exclaimed  one  of  the  ladies  who  was 
purchasing  jewels  in  Pearce's  shop,  "what  a  lovely  curio! 
Wherever  now  did  you  get  it  from?  " 

Maggie  turned  and  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  It  belongs  to  me. 
It  was  left  to  me  by  my  father." 

The  man  who  was  attending  to  Maggie  took  up  the  brooch 
and  examined  it  carefully.  He  took  it  into  another  room, 


128  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

where  he  subjected  it  to  various  tests.  He  then  came  back 
to  Maggie. 

"  I  will  give  you  five  pounds  for  this,  miss,  if  you  can 
satisfy  me  that  you  have  come  rightly  by  it." 

"  Oh  my! "  said  the  American  lady,  drawing  near,  and  her 
eyes  glistening. 

"What  is  your  address,  miss?" 

Maggie  by  no  means  wished  to  give  her  address.  "  I  haven't 
stolen  that  brooch,"  she  said.  "It  belongs  to  me;  I  have 
a  right  to  sell  it." 

"  Of  course,  miss,  I  shall  never  trouble  you  in  any  way; 
but  I  really  must  have  your  address.  In  purchasing  second- 
hand from  young  ladies  like  yourself  it  is  essential  that  every- 
thing should  be  above-board  and  quite  correct." 

"  Well,"  said  Maggie  in  a  hurried  voice,  "  take  the  brooch 
and  give  me  the  money.  I  must  get  back  as  quickly  as  I  can. 
I  am  one  of  Mrs.  Ward's  pupils  at  Aylmer  House." 

The  man  looked  at  Maggie  with  all  respect.  "And  your 
own  name?" 

"  Rowland,"  said  Maggie.    "  Miss  Rowland." 

The  man  entered  name  and  address  in  his  book,  and  then 
handed  Maggie  five  sovereigns.  She  was  hurrying  from  the 
shop,  when  the  customer  who  had  been  standing  near  all 
the  time,  and  listening  with  great  attention,  followed  her. 

"  I  say,  young  lady,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  am  from  New  York, 
and  I  like  your  quaint  old  English  things.  That  man  cheated 
you,  I  take  it.  If  you  had  offered  me  that  brooch  I'd  have 
given  you  fifteen  pounds  for  it,  not  five.  If  you  have  any 
more  curios  to  sell,  my  address  is  Miss  H.  Annie  Lapham, 
Langham  Hotel.*  I  am  straight  from  the  States,  and  would 
like  to  take  a  collection  of  beautiful  things  home  with  me." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Maggie  in  a  hurried  voice. 

She  ran  back  to  Aylmer  House  as  quickly  as  she  could. 
As  soon  as  she  was  quite  out  of  sight  the  lady  re-entered 
the  shop. 

"  Say,"  she  remarked  to  the  shopman,  "  I  witnessed  that 
little  transaction  between  you  and  Miss  Rowland.  I  want 
to  buy  that  brooch  for  ten  pounds." 

"  I  am  sorry,  madam,"  said  the  man,  "  but  it  is  not  for 
sale  just  at  present." 

"  That  means,"  said  Miss  Lapham,  coloring  crimson,  "  that 
you  have  cheated  the  young  lady.  You  ought  to  have  given 
her  four  times  as  much  for  the  brooch." 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

Miss  Lapham  grew  redder  than  ever.  "  I  happen  to  know 
Miss  Rowland's  address,"  she  said.  Then  she  went  away 
without  giving  him  time  to  add  a  word. 

When  she  had  left  the  shop  the  younger  Mr.  Pearce  turned 
to  his  brother,  took  the  little  brooch  from  the  drawer  into 
which  he  had  carelessly  thrown  it,  and  gave  it  to  the  elder 
Mr.  Pearce  to  examine.  "  There's  a  find  here,"  he  said;  "  only, 
somehow,  I  feel  a  bit  uncomfortable.  How  did  one  of  the 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  129 

young  ladies  from  Aylmer  House  come  by  a  treasure  of  this 
sort?" 

The  other  man  examined  the  brooch  carefully.  "  It's  worth 
a  good  bit,"  he  said.  "  What  did  you  give  her  for  it?  " 

"Five  pounds;  but  somehow  I  think  that  I  ought  not  to 
have  taken  it  for  that  sum." 

"  It  is  worth  at  least  two  hundred,"  said  the  elder  Mr. 
Pearce.  "Where  did  you  say  she  lived?" 

"  She  is  one  of  the  young  ladies  at  Aylmer  House — Miss 
Howland." 

"What!  from  Mrs.  Ward's  school?" 

41  Yes." 

"  You  had  better  give  me  that  brooch,  Alfred,"  said  his 
brother.  "  We'll  have  to  consider  what  is  to  be  done.  We 
can't  rob  the  young  lady  of  it.  We  had  best  consult  Mrs. 
Ward." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,"  said  the  younger  Pearce,  "  that  sounds 
almost  as  shabby  as  giving  the  schoolgirl  too  little  money." 

"Well,  lock  it  up  for  the  present,"  said  the  elder  Pearce; 
"  but  I  am  an  honest  tradesman,  and  I  can't  see  even  a  school- 
girl robbed." 

"  She  was  up  to  some  little  lark,"  said  the  younger  man, 
"  and  evidently  did  not  know  the  value  of  the  brooch.  Why, 
I  think  she'd  have  taken  a  pound  for  it.  But  what  she 
did  know  the  value  of  was  her  precious  time;  she  was  very 
much  annoyed  at  being  kept  waiting  and  at  being  asked  for 
her  address.  It  is  plain  she  got  out  without  leave;  and  al- 
though the  brooch  may  belong  to  her — I  am  sure  I  hope 
it  does — she  has  broken  a  rule,  you  mark  my  words.  Those 
schoolgirls  are  always  up  to  larks.  Well,  I'd  never  have 
thought  it  of  one  of  Mrs.  Ward's  girls." 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  didn't  consult  me,  Alfred,"  said  his 
brother.  "  The  best  thing  to  do  now  is  to  put  the  brooch  care- 
fully away.  We'll  consider  what  is  best  to  be  done  with  it; 
but  as  to  giving  the  young  lady  only  five  pounds  for  what 
we  can  sell  any  day  at  Christie's  for  a  couple  of  hundred, 
that  is  not  to  be  thought  of." 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE   LETTER. 

MAGGIE  got  out  and  came  back  again  without  any  apparent 
adventure.  She  had  five  pounds  in  her  pocket,  and  thought 
herself  rich  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice.  What  a  delight- 
ful fairy-gift  had  been  handed  down  to  her  by  her  dear  dead 
father!  She  did  not  miss  the  brooch  in  the  least,  but  she 
valued  the  small  sum  she  had  obtained  for  it  exceedingly. 

But  while  Maggie  thought  herself  so  secure,  and  while  the 
pleasant  jingle  of  the  sovereigns  as  she  touched  them  with  her 
little  hand  comforted  her  inexpressibly,  things  quite  against 
Maggie  Rowland's  supposed  interests  were  transpiring  in  an- 
other part  of  the  school. 


130  THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

It  was  a  strange  fact  that  on  this  special  afternoon  botH 
the  queens  should  be  prostrated  with  headache.  It  is  true 
that  Queen  Maggie's  headache  was  only  a  fiction,  but  poor 
Queen  Aneta's  was  real  enough.  She  was  lying  down  in 
her  pretty  bedroom,  hoping  that  quiet  might  still  the  throb- 
bing of  her  temples,  when  the  door  was  very  softly  opened, 
and  Merry  Cardew  brought  in  a  letter  and  laid  it  by  her  side. 

"  May  I  bring  you  some  tea  upstairs,  Aneta? "  she  said. 
"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"  Oh  no,  darling,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  can't  eat  or  drink;  but 
if  I  stay  very  still  I  shall  be  better  by-and-by.  Leave  me 
now,  dear;  all  I  want  is  perfect  quiet." 

'  I  am  so  sorry  for  you,"  Aneta,"  said  Merry. 

'What  are  you  doing  downstairs?"  said  Aneta  as  the  girl 
turned  away. 

'  Well,  Maggie  has  a  headache  too." 

'Oh!"  said  Aneta. 

'So  we  are  without  our  queens,"  continued  Merry;  "but 
Maggie's  girls  have  taken  possession  of  our  sitting-room,  and 
we  are  all  in  the  schoolroom.  We're  having  great  fun  and 
are  very  happy,  so  don't  worry  about  us  at  all,  Aneta." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Aneta,  closing  her  eyes,  while  a  feeling  of 
drowsy  relief  stole  over  her. 

Her  anxiety  with  regard  to  Maggie  was  really  making  her 
ill.  Her  sense  of  responsibility  with  reference  to  the  Gardew 
girls  seemed  to  oppress  her  usually  calm  spirit.  She  could 
not  conceal  the  fact  from  herself  that  Merry  loved  Maggie 
most  passionately.  The  knowledge,  therefore,  that  Maggie 
was  not  downstairs  gave  her  such  a  sense  of  comfort  that 
she  dropped  into  a  doze,  and  when  she  awoke  a  short  time 
afterwards  her  headache  was  gone. 

Yes,  her  headache  had  departed,  but  there  lay  by  her  pillow 
what  is  a  great  treasure  to  all  schoolgirls — an  unopened  letter. 
She  looked  at  the  handwriting,  and  saw  that  it  was  from  her 
aunt,  Lady  Lysle.  Aneta  was  very  fond  of  Lady  Lysle;  and, 
sitting  up  against  her  pillows,  she  tore  open  the  letter  and 
began  to  read.  She  was  surprised  to  see  that  it  was  dated 
from  Meredith  Manor. 

"  MY  DEAR  ANETA  " — it  ran — "  I  have  been  staying  with  the 
dear  Cardews  for  the  last  week.  We  have  been  having  a  very 
pleasant  time;  although,  of  course,  the  house  is  vastly  dif- 
ferent without  Cicely  and  Merry.  But  the  dear  Cardews  are 
so  sensible  that  they  never  would  regret  anything  that  was 
for  the  real  benefit  of  their  children. 

"  Your  letter  assuring  me  that  the  children  were  happy 
at  school  gave  me  great  delight,  and  when  I  told  the  Cardews 
they  were  equally  pleased.  Altogether,  this  school-venture 
seems  likely  to  turn  out  most  satisfactory,  and  the  dear  chil- 
dren will  be  properly  equipped  for  the  brilliant  life  which 
lies  before  them. 

"  But  now  I  have  a  curious  piece  of  information  for  you. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  131 

You  told  me  about  Miss  Howland  and  her  mother's  second 
marriage  to  one  of  the  Martyns  of  The  Meadows.  Well,  dear, 
we  went  there  yesterday,  and  I  happened  incidentally  to 
speak  on  the  subject;  and,  whatever  may  be  the  position  of 
Miss  Rowland's  stepfather,  he  certainly  is  no  relation  to  'our 
dear  friends  the  Martyns.  They  have  no  uncles  or  cousins 
in  England  at  all.  All  their  people  come  from  Australia,  and 
they  assured  me  that  such  a  marriage  as  I  have  described 
has,  in  the  first  place,  never  reached  their  ears,  and,  in  the 
next,  is  impossible,  for  they  have  no  marriageable  relations 
in  the  country.  I  mention  this  to  show  that  your  friend 
has  made  a  mistake.  At  the  same  time,  it  is  strange  of  her 
to  say  that  her  mother,  has  married  into  such  a  well-known 
and  distinguished  family.  I  can  add  no  more  now. — Yours, 
with  love,  and  in  haste,  LUCIA  LYSLE." 

Aneta  thought  over  this  letter  for  some  time.  Her  face 
was  very  grave  as  she  tried  to  put  two  and  two  together. 
She  rose  from  her  bed,  dressed  herself  with  her  usual  im- 
maculate neatness,  ana  came  down  to  supper,  which  took 
place  each  evening  at  half-past  seven. 

All  the  girls  were  present,  and  each  and  all  were  in  the 
best  of  good-humor.  Maggie  was  radiant.  Why  not?  She 
had  performed  a  difficult  task  discreetly,  and  she  had  five 
lovely  golden  sovereigns  in  her  drawer  upstairs.  She  could 
put  the  required  money  into  the  bag  for  the  school-treat, 
and  she  would  have  plenty  over  to  buy  chocolates  and  little 
things  that  she  might  require  for  herself.  She  did  not  in  the 
least  miss  that  one  small  brooch  which  her  father  had  left 
her;  but  she  thought  with  a  feeling  of  intense  satisfaction  of 
her  treasures.  She  need  no  longer  be  a  penniless  girl.  She 
had  but  at  rare  intervals  to  visit  Pearce  the  jeweler,  and  her 
pocket  would  be  well  lined.  She  had  no  romantic  feeling 
with  regard  to  those  beautiful  things  which  her  father  had 
collected  on  his  travels.  She  had  been  so  poor  all  her  life 
that  money  to  her  represented  power.  She  even  thought 
of  getting  a  couple  of  new  dresses  made  by  a  fashionable 
dressmaker.  She  resolved  to  consult  Lucy  on  the  subject. 
She  was  never  quite  as  well  dressed  as  the  other  girls,  al- 
though very  plain  clothes  were,  the  order  of  the  hour  at 
school. 

Immediately  after  supper  those  girls  who  required  to  look 
over  their  lessons  went  into  the  schoolroom  and  spent  a 
quiet  time  there;  but  the  others,  as  a  rule,  joined  Mrs.  Ward 
in  the  drawing-room.  There  those  who  could  play  were  re- 
quested to  do  so,  and  those  who  could  sing  did  likewise.  Mrs. 
Ward  was  very  fond  of  needlework.  She  could  do  rare  and 
wonderful  embroideries,  and  knew  some  of  the  tapestry 
stitches  which  were  in  vogue  hundreds  of  years  ago.  The 
girls  who  cared  to  be  taught  those  things  she  was  only  too 
glad  to  instruct;  but  she  never  pressed  any  one  into  her 
working-party.  This  was  always  an  hour  of  relaxation  for 


132  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

those  girls  who  had  all  their  lessons  ready  for  the  following 
day. 

Maggie,  who  was  exceedingly  clever  and  learned  with  the 
utmost  ease,  was  generally  a  member  of  the  drawing-room 
coterie.  She  wore  a  white  dress  on  this  evening,  with  a 
somewhat  crude  pink  sash  round  her  waist.  She  hated  the 
crudity  of  the  color,  and  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  could  get 
some  soft  and  becoming  sashes  out  of  part  of  the  money 
which  Pearce  had  given  her  for  the  brooch. 

By-and-by  she  found  herself  near  Aneta.  Aneta  was  work- 
ing a  center-piece  which  she  meant  to  present  to  Lady  Lysle 
at  Christmas.  Maggie  was  no  good  whatever  at  needlework, 
and  seldom  joined  the  band  of  needlewomen.  But  Aneta 
now  motioned  the  girl  to  come  and  sit  by  her  side.  Maggie 
did  so.  Aneta  looked  full  in  her  face. 

"Is  your  headache  better,  Maggie?"  she  asked. 

Maggie  had  to  reflect  for  a  time,  she  had  so  absolutely  for- 
gotten that  she  had  pretended  to  have  a  headache  that  after- 
noon! Then  she  said,  with  a  slight  flush  and  a  suspicious 
narrowing  of  her  eyes,  "Oh  yes;  thank  you,  I  am  quite  all 
right  again."  Maggie  had  not  heard  of  Aneta's  headache.  She, 
therefore,  did  not  ask  about  it. 

"  I  pity  people  who  have  headaches,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  suffer 
from  them  very  badly  myself.  Nothing  cures  me  but  perfect 
rest.  I  was  lying  down  all  the  afternoon.  Merry  came  to 
see  me,  and  told  me  that  you  were  also  prostrated  with  head- 
ache. I  was  sorry  for  you." 

"Oh,  thank  you  so  much!"  said  Maggie.  "Mine  is  quite 
gone;  is  yours?" 

"  Yes,  thank  you." 

Aneta  sat  quiet  and  very  still.  When  her  face  was  in 
repose  she  never  moved  her  body.  There  was  an  absolute 
sense  of  rest  about  her  which  was  refreshing  to  those  who 
really  knew  her  well.  But  Maggie  hated  it.  She  wanted  to 
leave  her;  she  wanted  to  go  and  talk  to  Merry,  who  was  play- 
ing a  solitary  game  of  patience  in  a  distant  part  of  the 
drawing-room;  she  wanted  to  do  anything  rather  than  remain 
by  Aneta's  side. 

Then  Aneta  looked  up.  "  I  had  a  letter  this  afternoon  from 
my  aunt,  Lady  Lysle." 

"Oh!"  said  Maggie.  She  could  not  quite  understand  why 
her  heart  beat  so  fast,  but  she  had  undoubtedly  a  premonition 
of  some  sort  of  trouble  ahead. 

"  Aunt  Lucia  is  staying  with  the  Cardews,"  continued  Aneta. 

"Is  she?"  said  Maggie.  "Oh,  that  sweet  and  beautiful 
place!"  she  continued. 

"  Yes,"  said  Aneta,  "  Meredith  Manor  will  always  be  lovely. 
There  is  no  season  of  the  year  when  it  is  not,  in  my  opinion, 
more  charming  than  any  other  place  I  know." 

"  Is  your  aunt  going  to  stay  there  long?  "  asked  Maggie, 
who  felt  that  she  need  not  say  anything  further  with  regard 
to  the  delights  of  Meredith  Manor  just  now. 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  133 

41 1  cannot  tell  you,"  replied  Aneta.  "  She  mentioned  some- 
thing rather  curious.  It  is  connected  with  you." 

"With  poor  little  me?"  said  Maggie. 

"  With  you,"  said  Aneta.  "  You  remember  telling  me  that 
your  stepfather  is  one  of  the  Martyns  of  The  Meadows?" 

Maggie's  face  grew  crimson,  then  turned  pale. 

"  Well,"  said  Aneta,  bringing  put  her  words  with  great  calm- 
ness, "  it  turns  out  to  be  a  mistake.  Your  stepfather  is  no 
relation  whatever  to  our  friends  the  Martyns.  Aunt  Lucia 
and  Mrs.  Cardew  went  to  call  on  them  the  other  day,  and  asked 
the  question.  You  made  a  mistake  in  announcing  your  step- 
father as  being  a  connection  of  our  friends." 

"Did  I?  Perhaps  so,"  said  Maggie.  "I  thought  he  was, 
that's  all." 

"  You  thought  wrong,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  felt  I  would  mention 
it  to  you.  He  may  be  just  as  well  connected,"  she  added 
quietly;  "but  he  isnot  related  to  the  Martins  of  The  Meadows." 

"  You  speak  in  a  very  disagreeable  tone,"  said  Maggie. 

"I  don't  mean  to,"  replied  Aneta;  "but  I  thought  I  would 
tell  you  in  order  that  you  should  not  spread  the  report  any 
further." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  want  to.  My  stepfather  has  just  as 
good  connections  as  any  one  else." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Aneta  gently;  "  only,  he  is  not  related 
to  our  special  friends.  You  might  let  Merry  and  Cicely  know." 

"Why?"  asked  Maggie  in  a  dogged  voice. 

"  You  can  please  yourself.    I  shall  tell  them  if  you  don't." 

"  Why  do  you  hate  me  so  much,  Aneta?  "  said  Maggie  then. 

"  I  hate  subterfuge  and  untruth,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  don't  hate 
you.  If  you  would  be  straight  and  open  and  above-board  you 
would  find  me  your  best  friend." 

"Thank  you  so  much!"  said  Maggie  in  a  sneering  tone. 
"  When  I  require  you  for  my  best  friend  it  will  be  time  enough 
for  you  to  offer  me  that  enviable  position."  Then  she  added, 
speaking  in  a  low  tone  of  intense  dislike,  "  Is  it  likely  that 
any  girl  would  wish  to  make  a  best  friend  of  another  girl 
who  accused  her  of  subterfuge  and  want  of  truthfulness?" 

The  delicate  pink  rose  in  Aneta's  cheeks.  She  raised  her 
eyes  and  looked  full  up  at  Maggie.  Her  clear,  calm  eyes 
seemed  like  mirrors.  Maggie  felt  that  she  could  not  meet 
them. 

It  was  just  at  that  moment  that  Cicely  Cardew,  in  a  state 
of  suppressed  excitement,  came  into  the  room. 

"  Maggie,"  she  said,  coming  straight  up  to  Maggie  Rowland, 
"  there's  a  very  large  parcel  addressed  to  you  in  the  hall.  It 
has  been  paid  for;  we  are  all  dying  with  curiosity  to  know 
what  it  is." 

Maggie  rose  abruptly. 

"  I  will  go  and  look  at  it  myself,"  she  said.  "  A  large  parcel 
addressed  to  me!  Who  can  have  sent  me  anything?" 

"  It  looks  like  a  huge  dress-box,"  said  Cicely.  "  We're  all 
curious  about  it. 


•  134  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Before  any  girl  could  leave  the  drawing-room  it  was  nec- 
essary that  she  should  ask  Mrs.  Ward's  permissi9n.  So  Mag- 
gie now  went  up  to  that  good  lady  and  asked  if  she  might 
go  and  look  at  her  parcel. 

"A  parcel  for  you,  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Ward.  "And  you 
want  to  see  its  contents?  But  bring  it  in  here;  we  shall  all 
be  delighted  to  look  at  it — sha'n't  we,  girls?" 

Maggie  went  away,  wondering  a  good  deal.  Cicely  accom- 
panied her.  Miss  Johnson  also  appeared  on  the  scene. 

"  Why,  Maggie,"  she  said,  "  what  can  you  have  got?  Such 
a  huge  box,  and  all  covered  over  with  brown  paper!  I  don't 
suppose  Mrs.  Ward  would  really  like  that  box  to  be  brought 
into  the  drawing-room.  I'll  just  go  and  ask  her." 

One  of  Mrs.  Ward's  peculiarities,  and  perhaps  one  of  the 
reasons  why  she  was  such  a  favorite  and  led  her  girls  With 
such  gentle,  silken  cords,  was  her  power  of  entering  into 
their  pleasures.  She  used  to  confess  with  a  smile  that  she 
was  like  a  child  herself  over  an  unopened  parcel;  and  when 
Miss  Johnson  appeared  with  the  information  that  the  box 
was  large  and  cumbersome.  Mrs.  Ward  still  gave  directions 
that  it  was  to  be  brought  into  the  drawing-room. 

"  You  can  put  some  of  the  brown  paper  on  the  floor,  if  you 
like,  Lucy,"  she  said,  "  and  Maggie  can  show  us  its  con- 
tents." 

Now,  one  glance  at  the  parcel  told  Maggie  Rowland  who  had 
sent  it.  She  recognized  her  stepfather  s  writing.  That  bold 
commercial  hand  was  painfully  visible  on  the  label.  She 
would  have  given  worlds  not  to  have  anything  selected  for 
her  by  Martin  exhibited  in  the  drawing-room  at  Aylmer 
House.  But  to  refuse  to  show  the  contents  of  the  box  would 
but  raise  strong  suspicion  against  her.  She  therefore,  al- 
though very  unwillingly,  followed  Miss  Johnson  into  the 
drawing-room.  The  box  was  laid  on  the  floor.  The  lid  was 
removed,  some  tissue-paper  was  next  extricated,  and  beneath 
lay  a  wardrobe  such  as  poor  Maggie  even  in  her  wildest 
dreams  had  never  imagined.  There  was  a  letter  lying  on 
the  top  which  she  clutched  and  put  into  her  pocket.  This 
letter  was  in  her  stepfather's  writing.  She  could  not  read  it 
before  the  others.  Aneta  and  all  the  girls  of  her  set,  also 
Kathleen  O'Donnell,  Rosamond  Dacre,  Matty  and  Clara  Roache, 
Janet  Burns,  the  Tristrams,  the  Gardews,  all  clustered  round 
the  box. 

"Oh,  what  fun!"  said  Kathleen.  "A  box  of  dresses  for 
you!  You  lucky  Queen  Maggie!  How  I  wish  some  one  would 
send  me  some  clothes!  " 

"  Take  them  out.  dear,  and  let  us  look  at  them,"  said  Mrs. 
Ward. 

The  first  dress  to  be  removed  was  a  magenta  cachemire. 
It  was  made  with  a  short  skirt  trimmed  with  little  frills 
of  the  same.  The  bodice  had  sleeves  to  the  elbows,  and  long, 
coarse  cream-colored  lace  sleeves  below.  The  front  of  the 
dress  was  also  much  bedizened  by  the  same  coarse  cream  lace. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  135 

Maggie  felt  her  face  nearly  purple  with  rage.  "  Oh,  why 
must  all  these  things  be  looked  at  here?"  she  said;  arid  there 
was  a  piteous  note  in  her  voice. 

"  I  don't  see  the  necessity,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  kindly. 

"But,  oh!  please,  please,"  said  Kathleen,  "we  must  see  the 
others.  Here's  a  sage-green  dress  trimmed  with  bands  of 
black  silk;  that  will  be  quite  useful  in  the  winter,  won't  it, 
Mags?" 

She  tried  to  speak  kindly,  for  the  sage-green  dress  was  as 
little  to  her  taste  as  the  impossible  magenta.  Under  the  two 
dresses  were  ribbons  of  different  shades  and  hues,  some  strong, 
coarse  stockings,  some  square-toed  shoes,  and  finally,  below 
everything  else,  an  evening-dress  made  of  voile,  and  deep 
blue  in  tone. 

"  Some  of  the  things  will  be  very  useful,"  said  Miss  John- 
son. "  I  will  put  them  all  back  again  now." 

"But  whom  have  they  come  from?"  said  Mrs.  Ward.  "I 
saw  you  take  a  note  and  put  it  into  your  pocket,  Maggie." 

"  Yes,  these  are  a  present  from  my  stepfather,"  said  Mag- 
gie. 

"Miss  Johnson,  you  will  take  them  upstairs,  won't  you?" 
Said  Mrs.  Ward. — "  It  is  kind  of  your  stepfather  to  think  of 
you,  Maggie." 

Maggie  looked  up  and  met  Aneta's  glace.  Was  Aneta  think- 
ing of  the  Martyns  of  The  Meadows?  The  color  rushed  all 
over  Maggie's  face.  She  clenched  her  hands.  "I  hate  the 
horrid,  horrid  things!  "  she  said.  "  I  won't  wear  one  of  them." 

"  Oh,  come,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ward  kindly;  "  your  stepfather 
means  very  well  indeed  by  you.  He  has  doubtless  had  very 
little  to  do  with  dressing  a  lady  before. — We  can  slightly 
alter  those  dresses,  can  we  not,  Miss  Johnson?" 

Miss  Johnson  had  now  placed  all  the  hideous  garments  back 
in  the  box.  She  said  with  a  smile,  "  The  sage-green  dress 
can  be  made  quite  useful;  but  I  rather  despair  of  the  magenta." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ward,  "  it  was  meant  kindly.  Perhaps, 
Maggie,  if  you  gave  me  your  stepfather's  address  I  might 
write  to  him  and  tell  him  the  sort  of  things  that  I  like  my 
girls  to  wear." 

Maggie  turned  crimson.  That  would  indeed  be  the  final 
straw.  She  murmured  something  which  Mrs.  Ward  did  not 
choose  to  hear.  To  her  great  relief,  the  hour  for  bed  had 
arrived,  and  all  the  girls  went  to  their  rooms. 

Miss  Johnson  came  down  again  after  she  had  deposited  the 
hideous  dresses  in  Maggie's  wardrobe.  "I  quite  pity  poor  little 
Maggie,"  she  said.  "What  frightful  taste!  There  is  really 
nothing  in  the  whole  of  that  box  that  she  can  possibly  wear." 

"  I  must  write  to  Mr.  Martyn,"  said  Mrs.  Ward.  "  Didn't 
somebody  tell  me  that  he  was  a  country  gentleman — a  relation 
of  the  Martyns  of  The  Meadows?  Such  particularly  nice 
people! " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  that,"  said  Miss  Johnson.  "  I  only 
know  that  the  contents  of  the  box  are  simply  atrocious." 


136  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ward,  "  we  won't  say  anything  to  annoy 
Maggie  to-night;  I  could  see  that  the  poor  dear  child  was 
greatly  mortified.  I  only  regret  that  I  had  the  box  opened 
here;  but  you  know  it  is  one  of  our  customs  to  share  all 
our  pleasures.  Poor  little  Maggie!  The  thing  was  most  un- 
lucky." 

Up  in  her  room,  Maggie  had  locked  her  door.  She  would 
unlock  it  again,  but  she  must  read  that  frightful  letter  with- 
out any  chance  of  being  disturbed.  She  opened  it,  tore  it 
from  its  envelope,  and  read  the  contents: 

"  DEAR  POPSY, — I  came  across  a  cheap  lot  of  frocks  the 
other  day  at  a  bankrupt's  sale,  and  thought  at  once  of  Little- 
sing  and  her  daughter  Popsy-wopsy.  I  am  sending  the  dresses 
off  to  you  without  saying  a  word  to  Little-sing.  You  will  be 
well  off  now  for  some  time,  and  won't  require  the  five  pounds 
from  me  for  dress  at  Christmas.  Hope  you're  enjoying  your 
fine  young  ladies  and  fine  life.  Neither  Little-sing  nor  me 
miss  you  a  bit;  but,  all  the  same,  your  room  will  be  ready  for 
you  at  Christmas.  Take  care  of  those  good  clothes,  for  I 
can't  often  spend  as  much  on  you. 

"  Good-bye  for  the  present. — Your  affectionate  father, 

"  BO-PEEP. 

"  P.S.- — I  have  a  good  mind  to  call  on  that  fine-lady  school- 
mistress of  yours,  Mrs.  Ward.  There's  no  saying  but  that 
Little-sing  and  me  may  come  along  some  afternoon  when 
you  least  expect  us." 

Maggie  crushed  the  letter  in  her  hand.  Fresh  terrors  seemed 
to  surround  her.  Dreadful  as  the  impossible  clothes  were, 
they  were  nothing  to  what  the  appearance  on  the  scene  would 
be  of  the  impossible  stepfather  and  her  poor  mother.  Oh, 
why  had  she  concealed  the  position  of  the  man  whom  her 
mother  had  married?  Already  Aneta  had  detected  her  little 
act  of  deception  with  regard  to  the  Martyns  of  The  Meadows. 
But  that,  Maggie  felt,  could  be  got  over.  It  was  easy  for 
a  girl  to  -make  a  mistake  in  a  matter  of  that  kind,  and  surely 
there  were  other  Martyns  in  the  country  high-born  and  re- 
spectable and  all  that  was  desirable.  But  James  Martin  who 
kept  a  grocer's  shop  at  Shepherd's  Bush — James  Martin,  with 
"grocer"  written  all  over  him! — rich,  it  is  true;  but,  oh,  so 
vulgarly  rich!  Were  he  to  appear  and  announce  his  relation- 
ship to  her  at  the  school,  she  felt  that,  as  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned, the  end  of  the  world  would  have  arrived.  What  was 
she  to  do?  There  was  not  a  minute  to  be  lost.  In  one  way 
or  another  she  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  Bo-peep  during  the 
last  half  of  those  dreadful  summer  holidays,  and  she  knew 
that  he  was,  as  he  expressed  it,  as  good  as  his  word. 

Her  only  chance  was  in  writing  to  her  mother.  But  then, 
if,  by  any  chance,  Maggie's  letter  got  into  the  hands  of  Bo- 
peep,  his  wrath  would  be  so  great  that  he  would,  in  all  prob- 
ability, take  her  from  the  school  at  once.  What  was  to  be 
done?  Poor  Maggie  felt  herself  between  two  fires.  In  either 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  137 

direction  was  danger.  On  the  whole,  she  resolved  to  throw 
herself  on  her  mother's  mercy.  Mrs.  Martin,  as  she  was  now, 
would  much  prefer  Maggie  to  remain  at  school,  and  she  might 
be  clever  enough  to  keep  Maggie's  stepfather  from  putting 
in  an  appearance  at  Aylmer  House. 

Maggie  wrote  a  short  and  frantic  letter.  She  was  in  the 
midst  of  it  when  there  came  a  tap  at  her  room-door. 

"  It's  I,  Maggie,"  said  Miss  Johnson's  voice  from  without. 
"  Your  light  is  still  burning;  you  ought  to  be  in  bed." 

Maggie  flew  and  opened  the  door.  "  I  am  sorry,"  she  said. 
"  I  was  a  good  deal  upset  about  those  detestable  clothes.  I 
am  writing  to  my  mother.  Please,  Lucy,  let  me  finish  the 
letter.  When  it's  done — and  I  won't  be  a  minute  longer — • 
I'll  put  it  in  the  post-box  myself,  so  that  it  can  go  by  the 
first  post  in  the  morning." 

"  Very  well,  dear,"  said  Lucy,  who  was  too  kind  not  to 
be  good  to  any  girl  in  the  school ;  "  only  be  quick,  Maggie," 
she  said,  "  for  you  know  you  are  breaking  the  rules." 

"Yes!  oh  yes!"  said  Maggie;  "and  I  will  never  do  it 
again." 

Miss  Johnson  left  her,  and  Maggie  flew  back  to  bend  over 
her  paper  and  continue  her  writing : 

"  Darling,  you  must  not  let  him  come  here.  He  threatens 
to  come,  but  you  must  keep  him  away.  All  will  be  up  with 
me  if  he  is  seen  at  the  school.  I  beseech  of  you  have  a  little 
mercy  on  me.  For  the  sake  of  my  own  father,  keep  him — do 
keep  him — from  Aylmer  House. — Your  distracted  daughter, 

"MAGGIE  HOWLAND." 

This  letter  was  addressed  to  Mrs.  Martin  (spelt  this  time 
with  an  "i"),  Laburnum  Villa,  Clapham.  Maggie  stamped 
it,  and,  flying  downstairs,  popped  it  into  the  box  which  held 
the  letters. 

CHAPTER    XX. 

THE  VILLA. 

LABURNUM  VILLA,  in  the  suburb  of  Clapham,  was,  in  the* 
new  Mrs.  Martin's  eyes,  quite  a  delightful  place.  She  had 
rtever  appreciated  her  first  husband,  Professor  Rowland,  but 
she  thoroughly  appreciated  Bo-peep,  and  after  her  own 
fashion  was  fond  of  him.  He  gave  her  comforts.  She  had 
lived  so  long  without  comforts  that  she  appreciated  these 
good  things  of  life  to  the  full.  She  had  never  really  been  much 
attached  to  Maggie,  who  was  too  like  her  own  father  and  too 
unlike  herself  to  allow  of  the  existence  of  any  sympathy 
between  them.  Maggie,  even  before  Mrs.  Howland  met  Martin 
the  Shepherd's  Bush  grocer,  had  been  more  or  less  a  thorn 
in  the  flesh  to  her  mother. 

Laburnum  Villa  was  furnished,  as  James  Martin  expressed 
it,  with  an  eye  to  comfort.     There  were  solid  arm-chairs 
with  deep  seats  and  good  springs,  and  these  were  covered 
9k 


138  THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

with  maroon-colored  leather  There  were  thick,  maroon- 
colored  curtains  to  the  dining-room  windows,  and  all  the  fur- 
niture of  the  room  was  of  solid  oak.  There  was  a  rich  Turkey 
carpet  on  the  floor,  and  prints  of  different  hunting  scenes — 
by  no  means  bad  in  their  way — hanging  on  the  walls.  The 
paint-work  of  the  room  was  of  dull  red,  and  the  paper  was 
of  the  same  tone.  It  was  a  small  room,  and  the  furniture  was 
large  and  heavy,  but  it  represented  in  Martin's  eyes  the  very 
essence  of  comfort.  The  fireplace  was  modern,  and  when  it 
was  piled  up  with  goodly  lumps  of  coal  it  caused  a  warmth 
to  pervade  the  whole  room  which,  as  Mrs.  Martin  expressed 
it,  was  very  stimulating.  The  house  had  electric  light,  which 
both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Martin  considered  distinguished. 

They  spent  most  of  their  time  in  the  dining-room,  al- 
though Mrs.  Martin,  with  some  faint  instinct  still  left  of 
her  own  life,  would  have  preferred  to  use  the  drawing- 
room  in  the  evenings;  but  when  she  suggested  this  Bo-peep 
said,  "  No,  no,  Little-sing;  I  can  smoke  here  and  sit  by  the 
fire,  and  enjoy  the  rest  which  I  have  rightly  earned.  I  hate 
rooms  full  of  fal-lals.  You  can  keep  your  drawing-room  for 
the  time  when  I  am  out,  Little-sing." 

Mrs.  Martin  knew  better  than  to  oppose  her  husband.  She 
recognized  her  own  weakness,  and  knew  that  against  his  fiat 
she  could  no  more  exercise  her  puny  strength  than  a  bab- 
bling stream  can  disturb  a  great  rock.  She  used  her  drawing- 
room  when  Bo-peep  was  out,  and  regarded  it  with  intense 
satisfaction.  It  is  true  that  the  colors  were  crude,  for  James 
Martin  would  have  screamed  at  any  Liberty  tints.  But  the 
carpet  was  good  of  its  kind,  the  pictures  on  the  walls  not 
too  atrocious.  Although  they  were  in  gilt  frames,  the  large 
mirrors  over  the  mantelpiece  and  at  one  end  of  the  room 
were  first  rate;  in  short,  the  drawing-room  was  fairly  pre- 
sentable, and  Mrs.  Martin  had  some  traces  of  her  old  life 
still  lingering  about  her  which  gave  a  look  of  domesticity 
and  even  repose  to  the  place.  Her  little  work-basket,  with 
its  embroidery,  was  home-like  and  pleasant.  She  had  for- 
gotten how  to  play,  but  she  always  kept  the  piano  open.  Bo- 
peep  suggested  buying  a  pianola,  and  Mrs.  Martin  thought 
it  would  be  a  good  idea. 

"  We'll  have  all  the  comic  operas  on  it,"  said  Bo-peep; 
41  nothing  of  the  classic  order  for  me — nothing  over-my- 
head,  but  the  popular  tunes,  plenty  of  them — no  stint.  What 
do  you  say,  Little-sing?" 

Little-sing  replied  that  it  would  be  charming;  but  in  her 
heart  she  somewhat  shuddered,  and  was  glad  that  the  pianola 
was  still  a  thing  to  be  purchased. 

Tildy  had  been  turned  into  a  very  presentable  little  parlor- 
maid. There  was  also  a  first-rate  cook,  for  Martin  was  fond 
of  the  pleasures  of  the  table.  On  the  whole,  the  little  house- 
hold was  comfortable,  and  Mrs.  Martin  enjoyed  her  life.  She 
had  some  cards  printed  with  her  new  name  and  address,  -and 
the  notification  that  she  was  "  at  home  "  on  the  third,  fourth, 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  139 

and  fifth  of  each  month.  Tildy  was  very  much  excited  about 
these  At  Home  days;  but  the  first  month  after  Mrs.  Martin's 
marriage  passed  without  a  single  individual  calling  upon  her. 

Mrs.  Martin  had  been  settled  for  over  six  weeks,  and  the 
day  of  Queen  Maggie's  great  reception  at  the  school  in  Ken- 
sington was  drawing  on  apace.  Mrs.  Martin  was  in  a  state 
of  subdued  excitement.  She  was  dressed  in  her  best.  Her 
best  consisted  of  a  light  fawn-colored  silk  with  velvet  trim- 
mings of  the  same.  The  silk  rustled  as  she  walked.  On  her 
fingers  were  many  rings  of  much  brilliancy,  and  she  wore  a 
small  diamond  brooch  at  her  throat.  The  reason  of  all  this 
festive  attire  was  a  simple  one,  a  good  one,  a  domestic  one. 
James  Martin  was  coming  home.  He  had  been  in  Liverpool, 
engaged  on  special  business,  for  the  greater  part  of  a  week; 
but  he  was  now  returning  to  his  beloved  Little-sing,  who 
had  missed  him,  and  he  was  pleased  to  feel  that  he  would 
be  with  her  again.  She  knew  his  tastes  to  a  nicety,  and  had 
desired  the  cook  to  prepare  a  very  special  dinner  for  his 
delectation. 

"  Beef-steak  pudding,  cook,"  she  said,  "  with  mutton  kid- 
neys, and  plenty  of  oysters;  and  be  sure  the  crust  is  very 
light." 

Cook  replied  that  if  she  did  not  know  how  to  mak«  beef- 
steak pudding  she  ought  immediately  to  leave  her  "perfes- 
sion."  She  was  a  stout,  red-faced  woman,  and  had  a  way 
of  frightening  Mrs.  Martin,  who  generally  retreated  from  the 
kitchen  premises  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Martin;  I  am  glad  you  quite  under- 
stand. You  know  that  my  husband  is  very  particular.  Then 
we'll  have  potatoes  and  fried  mushrooms,  and  I  think  after- 
wards apple-tart  and  cream." 

The  cook,  whose  name  was  Horniman,  condescended  to  sig- 
nify her  willingness  to  provide  this  dinner,  and  Mrs.  Martin 
went  up  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  You  had  better  light  a  fire  here,  Matilda,"  she  said.  "  It's 
going  to  be  a  very  cold  day." 

u  Fd  a  sight  rayther  you  called  me  Tildy,  mum.  It  seems 
like  as  though  a  lump  o'  ice  got  on  my  'eart  when  you  say 
Mat-tilda." 

" '  Matilda '  is  more  refined  and  suitable,"  said  Mrs.  Martin 
with  dignity. 

"  Oh  yes,  'um — 'course,  'um.  When  'ull  Miss  Maggie  be 
comin'  to  see  us,  'um?" 

"  Not  before  Christmas,  you  silly  girl.  Miss  Maggie  is  at 
school." 

"  So  I  'ave  'eard,"  said  Matilda.  "  You  'aven't  give  me  no 
'olidays,  'um,  sence  I  come  to  yer;  and  it  were  understood, 
8\iTe-ly,  that  I  were  to  'ave  my  day  out  once  a  month." 

"  You  shall  go  out  to-morrow,  Matilda.  I  haven't  the  slight- 
est wish  to  keep  you  indoors  against  your  will." 

44  To-morrer's  cook's  day,  'um." 

"  Well,  then,  you  shall  go  the  next  day." 


140  THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  Thank  you,  'um.  I  thought  I'd  go  and  see  Miss  Maggie 
ef  you'd  give  me  her  address." 

"  Well,  now,  that's  a  very  good  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Martin.  "  I 
could  write  her  a  little  note,  and  you  could  take  it  to  her. 
That's  very  thoughtful  of  you,  Tilda.  Yes,  I  should  like  you 
to  go  and  bring  me  word  how  she  is." 

"  It'6  longin'  I  am  to  lay  eyes  on  'er,  mum.  She's  a  bee-utiful 
way  with  'er,"  said  Matilda. 

When  she  was  quite  alone  Mrs.  Martin  took  that  letter  of 
Maggie's,  which  she  had  received  during  her  husband's  ab- 
sence, from  her  pocket.  She  was  terrified  lest  Bo-peep  should 
read  it.  The  letter  had  offended  her.  Maggie  had  written 
with  great  fire  and  distress :  "  You  must  not  let  him  come 
here.  All  will  be  up  with  me  if  he  is  seen  at  the  school. 
For  the  sake  of  my  own  father,  keep  him  from  Aylmer  House." 

Mrs.  Martin  slipped  it  back  into  her  pocket,  and  then  sat 
by  her  comfortable  drawing-room  fire  waiting  for  the  arrival 
of  the  good  Bo-peep.  He  was  a  very  playful  creature.  His 
one  idea  of  happiness  consisted  in  endless  jokes — practical 
jokes  or  otherwise,  just  as  it  suited  him  at  the  moment. 

He  had  done  a  very  successful  stroke  of  business  in  Liver- 
pool, and  was  returning  to  Laburnum  Villa  in  the  highest 
spirits.  While  he  was  in  the  train  he  was  planning  how  he 
could  most  effectively  announce  his  return.  To  ring  at  his 
own  hall-door,  or  to  open  it  with  a  latch-key,  or  to  walk  in  in 
the  ordinary  fashion  of  the  master  of  the  house  did  not  con- 
tent him  at  all.  He  must  invent  a  more  novel  manner  of 
return  than  that.  He  was  really  fond  of  Little-sing.  She 
suited  him  to  perfection.  What  he  called  her  "  fine-lady 
airs,"  when  they  were  displayed  to  any  one  but  himself, 
pleased  him  mightily.  He  thought  of  her  as  pretty  and 
gracious  and  sweet.  He  really  loved  her  after  his  own  fashion, 
and  would  do  anything  in  his  power  to  make  her  happy.  But 
he  must,  as  he  expressed  it,  have  his  joke. 

Mrs.  Martin  was  seated  by  the  fire  in  the  drawing-room. 
It  was  getting  late — nearly  four  o'clock;  but,  according  to 
an  expressed  wish  of  Bo-peep,  the  window-blinds  had  not  yet 
been  drawn  down.  He  liked,  as  he  said,  to  see  his  home 
before  he  entered  it.  Mrs.  Martin,  therefore,  with  the  electric 
light  on,  was  perfectly  visible  from  the  road.  Mr.  Martin 
guessed  that  this  would  be  the  case,  and  he  stopped  the  cab 
at  a  little  distance  from  the  house,  paid  the  fare,  shouldered 
his  bag,  and  walked  softly  down  the  street.  He  went  and 
stood  outside  the  window.  He  looked  in.  The  street  was 
a  quiet  one,  and  at  that  moment  there  were  no  passers-by. 
Mrs.  Martin  was  seated  in  her  smart  dress  which  he  had 
given  her,  with  her  profile  towards  him.  He  thought  her 
very  beautiful  indeed.  His  heart  swelled  with  pride.  She 
belonged  to  him.  He  hated  fine  ladies,  as  a  rule;  but  a  fine 
lady  who  was  his  very  own  was  a  different  matter.  He  even 
felt  romantic. 

She  was  reading  a  letter.    Who  could  have  been  writing  to 


THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS.  141 

Little-sing?  Suddenly  it-  occurred  to  him  to  slip  down  the 
area  steps  and  stand  close  under  the  window.  He  did  so, 
to  the  terror  of  cook  and  Tildy.  Cook  was  about  to  ssream, 
"Burglars!"  but  Tildy  recognized  her  master. 

"  It's  his  joke,"  she  said.  "  'E's  a  wonderful  man  for  jokes. 
Don't  let  on  to  Mrs.  Martin  that  'e's  'ere  for  your  life.  'E'll 
do  something  so  comic  in  a  minute." 

The  comicality  of  Martin  consisted,  in  the  present  instance, 
of  singing  in  a  harsh  baritone  the  song  of  the  Troubadour : 

"  Gaily  the  Troubadour 

Touched  his  guitar, 
When  he  was  hastening 

Home  from  the  war; 
Singing,  '  From  Palestine 

Hither  I  come. 
Lady e  love!  ladyelove! 

Welcome  me  home.' " 

Mrs.  Martin  gave  a  shriek.  She  had  the  presence  of  mind 
to  pop  her  letter  into  her  pocket.  Then  she  approached  the 
window,  trembling  and  blushing.  Bo-peep  uttered  a  huge 
laugh  of  delight,  let  himself  in  by  the  back  way,  and  ran  up 
the  stairs. 

"  Little-sing!  "  he  said,  and  clasped  his  wife  in  his  arms. 

During  dinner  James  Martin  was  in  high  good  humor,  and 
it  was  not  until  dessert  was  put  on  the  table  and  he  had 
helped  himself  liberally  to  port  wine,  and  was  filling  his  pipe 
for  his  evening  smoke,  that  it  occurred  to  him  to  speak  to  his 
wife  about  Maggie. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  I  did  a  right  good  turn  for  that 
girl  of  yours,  Little-sing,  before  I  left  for  Liverpool.  I  sent 
her  a  box  of  clothes — two  smart  everyday  dresses,  an  evening 
dress,  and  no  end  of  fal-lals.  She  wrote  to  thank  me,  I  sup- 
pose? " 

"  She  wrote  to  me,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  trembling  a  good 
deal.  "  She  was  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  And  well  she  ought  to  be.  Did  she  clearly  understand 
that  I  sent  her  the  things — that  you  had  nothing  to  do  with 
them?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Martin.  "  Won't  you  have  some 
coffee,  James?  I'll  tell  Matilda  to  bring  it  in." 

"Coffee — fiddlestick!"  said  Martin;  "and  you  know  I  hate 
to  be  called  '  James.'  Where's  Bo-peep?  " 

"  You  are  Bo-peep,"  said  his  wife  with  a  funny  smile. 

"  Well,  then,  no  '  Jamesing '  of  me.  I  think  it  is  very  queer 
of  your  daughter  not  to  reply  to  me  when  I  send  her  expensive 
and  handsome  things.  What  did  she  say  in  her  letter  to 
you?" 

"  Oh,  she  was  very  grateful,  of  course,  Bo-peep." 

"Well — but — where's  the  letter?  I  may  as  well  see  it. 
There's  stuff  in  that  girl.  I  don't  despair  of  her  yet.  She  has 


142  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

a  head  for  business.  I  wouldn't  have  your  dear  little  head 
muddled  with  business,  but  your  daughter's  a  different  person. 
She  has  nothing  whatever  to  live  on  except  what  I  allow  her, 
and  unless  she  is  to  starve  she  has  got  to  please  me." 

Mrs.  Martin  might  have  said,  had  she  not  been  afraid,  that 
Maggie  was  certainly  entitled  to  her  own  father's  money;  but 
it  is  to  be  regretted  that  Little-sing  had  not  much  courage. 

Matilda  came  in  with  the  coffee,  which  caused  a  slight 
diversion,  more  particularly  as  it  was  not  to  Martin's  taste, 
who  desired  her  to  take  it  away  again,  and  request  Horniman 
to  send  him  something  fit  to  drink.  When  the  door  was 
closed  behind  Matilda  he  renewed  the  subject  of  the  letter. 

"  I  saw  you  reading  something  as  I  came  along,"  he  said. 
"  When  I  peeped  in  at  the  window  you  had  a  letter  in  your 
hand.  Who  has  been  writing  to  you?" 

"  Only  Maggie." 

"  And  that  is  the  letter  you  spoke  about?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  James — I  mean  Bo-peep — yes.  The  child  is 
very  grateful." 

"  She  ought  to  be.  I'd  like  to  see  the  letter.  Where  is 
it?" 

"  I  will  go  upstairs  and  fetch  it,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  who 
knew  well  that  it  was  safe  in  her  pocket  all  the  time. 

James  Martin  roused  himself  and  gave  her  a  studied  look. 

"  Do  so,"  he  said.  "  Bring  it  back  to  me  at  once.  If  I  have 
to  support  that  girl,  and  keep  her  at  school,  and  pay  for  her 
clothing,  I'll  allow  her  to  have  no  secrets  from  me.  You  un- 
derstand that,  don't  you,  Little-sing?  " 

"  Yes.     I  will  fetch  the  letter,"  said  Mrs.  Martin. 

She  left  the  room.  Martin  was  fond  of  her,  but  he  was  no 
fool.  He  was  certain  now  that  there  was  something  in  the 
letter  which  his  wife  did  not  wish  him  to  see,  and  his  curi- 
osity was  instantly  aroused.  He  was  determined  to  read  poor 
Maggie's  letter  at  any  cost.  He  waited  impatiently,  drumming 
his  large,  fat  hand  on  the  highly  polished  oak  table  the  while. 
Tildy  came  in  with  fresh  coffee." 

"  Please,  sir,"  she  said,  "  cook  wants  to  see  you  for  a  min- 
ute." 

"  I  can't  see  her  now.    Tell  her  so,"  replied  Martin. 

"  Which  is  no  message  for  a  woman  of  my  class,"  said  Hor- 
niman, entering  the  room  and  showing  a  very  heated  face. 
"  I  wishes  to  give  notice  that  I  leave  your  service  this  day 
month." 

"  You  can  go  to-morrow,"  said  Martin. 

"As  you  please,  sir;  wages  in  full." 

"  You  go  to-morrow,"  said  Martin;  "  and  if  you  say  another 
word  you  go  to-night.  Leave  the  room." 

Tildy  breathed  a  little  quickly,  felt  inclined  to  pat  master 
on  the  back,  thought  better  of  it,  and  left  the  room. 

"Whatever  is  keeping  Little-sing?"  thought  Martin  to 
himself. 

He  was  not  going  to  worry  about  cook  and  her  whims,  but 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  143 

of  Little-sing  and  the  letter.  He  grew  a  little  more  suspi- 
cious, and  consequently  a  little  more  angry. 

"  She  has  that  letter  in  her  pocket;  I  saw  her  put  it  there 
when  I  was  acting  the  part  of  the  Troubadour,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  She  is  destroying  it  now;  but  she  sha'n't — not 
before  I  get  it." 

He  softly  left  the  dining-room  and  crept  with  catlike  steps 
upstairs.  He  stopped  outside  his  wife's  bedroom.  There  was 
a  light  burning  there.  He  turned  the  handle  of  the  door.  It 
was  locked. 

"  Open  the  door  at  once,"  he  said;  and  Mrs.  Martin  flew  to 
do  so. 

"  Oh  Bo-peep,  you  gave  me  a  fright!  " 

"Where  is  that  letter,  Victoria?" 

"  It — it — I  can't  find  it,"  she  replied. 

"  What  are  those  papers  lying  on  the  floor?  " 

Mrs.  Martin  gave  a  cry.  Mr.  Martin  was  too  quick  for  her. 
He  swept  up  the  pieces  of  torn  letter,  C9llected  them  in  his 
great  hand,  and,  taking  Mrs.  Martin  with  the  other  hand, 
returned  with  her  to  the  dining-room. 

"  Now,  you  sit  there,  Little-sing,"  he  said,  "  while  I  piece 
the  letter  together.  There  is  something  in  it  that  you  want 
hidden  from  me;  but  you've  quite  mistook  your  man.  There 
are  to  be  no  secrets  between  you  and  me.  I'm  not  the  least 
bit  angry  with  you,  but  I  am  not  going  to  have  that  girl  ruling 
you.  You're  frightened  of  that  girl.  Now,  let's  see  what  she 
has  to  say." 

Poor  Mrs.  Martin  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  Suddenly 
she  went  on  her  knees,  clasped  her  hands  round  Bo-peep's 
arm,  and  looked  into  his  face.  "  She  was  naughty.  She  was 
a  silly  child.  Oh,  forgive  her!  I  ought  to  have  destroyed  the 
letter.  I  ought  not  to  have  kept  it  until  you  came  back. 
Please — please,  don't  read  it!  " 

"  Nonsense,  Little-sing,"  he  replied,  restored  once  more  to 
the  height  of  good  humor.  "  You  have  roused  my  curiosity; 
nothing  will  induce  me  not  to  see  every  word  of  the  letter 
now." 

It  took  Martin  some  time  to  piece  together  poor  Maggie's 
letter;  but  at  last  the  greater  part  of  its  meaning  was  made 
plain  to  him.  Mrs.  Martin  sat,  white  as  death,  looking  at  her 
lord  and  master.  What  was  going  to  happen?  What  awful 
thing  lay  ahead  of  her?  She  felt  crushed  beyond  words. 
Once  again  she  struggled  to  get  on  her  knees  to  implore  him, 
to  entreat;  but  Martin  put  out  his  great  hand  and  kept  her 
forcibly  in  her  seat. 

When  he  had  quite  taken  in  the  meaning  of  the  letter  he 
made  no  comment  whatever,  but  carefully  deposited  the  torn 
fragments  in  his  pocket-book.  Then  he  said  quietly,  "  I  don't 
blame  you,  Little-sing,  not  one  bit.  But  we've  got  to  punish 
this  girl.  To-morrow  I  shall  be  busy  in  town.  The  day  after 
will  be  Friday,  and  I  shall  be  busy  then;  but  on  Saturday  we'll 
take  a  half-holiday  and  go  to  visit  Miss  Margaret  Howland  at 


144  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Aylmer  House — you  and  me  together,  Little-sing — the  grocer 
and  his  wife  together.     Not  a  word,  my  love;  not  a  word." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

TILDY'S  MESSAGE. 

NOTHING  ever  kept  Mrs.  Martin  awake;  and,  notwithstanding 
her  anxiety  with  regard  to  Maggie,  she  slept  soundly  that 
night.  Bo-peep  was  his  9wn  delightful  self.  His  jokes  were 
really  too  good  for  anything!  She  regarded  him  as  the  wit- 
tiest man  of  her  acquaintance.  She  laughed  till  the  tears  ran 
down  her  cheeks.  He  told  her  that  he  would  take  her  to  the 
theater  on  the  following  evening,  and  further  said  that  he 
would  engage  a  cook  himself  in  town,  send  her  out  in  the 
course  of  the  morning,  and  that  Horniman  could  go. 

Horniman  came  up  to  interview  her  mistress  soon  after 
Martin's  departure.  She  was  penitent  now,  and  willing  to 
stay;  but  nothing  would  induce  Martin  himself  to  forgive  her, 
and,  in  consequence,  Mrs.  Martin  did  not  dare  to  do  so.  The 
woman  was  paid  her  wages  in  full,  and  dismissed.  Then  it 
occurred  to  Mrs.  Martin  that  here  was  her  opportunity  to  send 
a  short  note  of  warning  to  Maggie.  Why  she  did  not  send  it 
by  post  it  is  hard  to  ascertain;  but  she  thought  that  it  would 
go  more  swiftly  and  surely  if  Tildy  were  the  messenger. 

Accordingly  she  sent  for  Tildy  and  told  her  what  she  ex- 
pected her  to  do. 

"  Matilda,"  she  said,  "  cook  has  gone,  and  I  shall  be  quite 
content  with  tea  and  toast  and  a  lightly  boiled  egg  for  my 
lunch.  After  lunch  you  can  take  the  train  to  London  and 
convey  a  message  from  me  to  Miss  Maggie." 

44  Oh  mum,  'ow  beauteous!  "  said  Tildy. 

44 1  will  have  a  letter  ready  which  you  are,  if  possible,  to  put 
into  her  own  hands." 

44  Yes,  'urn;  and  don't  I  long  to  see  'er,  jest  I  M 

"  Well,  this  is  the  address,"  said  Mrs.  Martin.  "  Get  every- 
thing cosy  and  comfortable  in  the  house,  and  bring  me  my 
tea  by  one  o'clock.  A  train  will  take  you  to  Victoria- at  half- 
past  one,  which  you  ought  to  catch.  You  can  easily  be  back 
here  between  four  and  five;  by  that  time  the  new  cook  will 
have  arrived." 

44  Things  ain't  dull  a  bit  to-day,"  said  Tildy.  "  They're  much 
more  Shepherd's  Bushy,  and  I  like  'em  a  sight  better  than  I 
did." 

44  Well,  go  now,  and  attend  to  your  business,"  said  Mrs. 
Martin. 

Having  secured  a  messenger,  Mrs.  Martin  next  prepared  to 
write  to  poor  Maggie : 

44  My  DEAR  CHILD, — Most  unfortunately  your  father  has  dis- 
covered the  letter  you  wrote  to  me.  He  doesn't  say  much,  but 
I  can  see  that  he  is  furiously  angry.  He  intends  to  take  me 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  145 

with  him  to  call  on  you  next  Saturday — I  presume,  some  time 
in  the  afternoon.  I  will  try  to  make  him  dress  in  as  gentle- 
manly a  manner  as  possible,  and  also  will  endeavor  to  prevent 
his  talking  about  the  shop.  You  must  make  the  very  best  of 
things  you  can,  dear;  for  there's  no  possible  way  of  keeping 
him  from  Aylmer  House. — Your  affectionate  mother, 

"  VICTORIA  MARTIN." 

When  the  letter  was  finished  Mrs.  Martin  put  it  into  an 
envelope,  addressed  to  Miss  Maggie  Rowland,  Aylmer  House, 
Randal  Square,  South  Kensington,  and  put  it  into  Tildy's  care. 
Tildy  caught  her  train  all  in  good  time,  arrived  at  Victoria, 
and  took  a  bus  to  South  Kensington.  A  very  little  inquiry 
enabled  her  to  find  Randal  Square,  and  at  about  half-past 
two  she  was  standing  on  the  steps  of  that  most  refined  and 
genteel  home,  Aylmer  House.  The  look  of  the  place  im- 
pressed her,  but  did  not  give  her  any  sense  of  intimidation. 
When  the  door  was  opened  to  her  modest  ring,  and  the 
pleasant,  bright-looking  parlor-maid  answered  her  summons, 
Tildy  gazed  at  her  with  great  interest  but  without  a  scrap 
of  shyness. 

"  I've  come  from  'er  'ome  to  see  Miss  Maggie  'Owland," 
said  Tildy;  "and  I've  a  message  for  'er  from  'er  ma." 

The  girl,  whose  name  was  Agnes,  stared  for  a  minute  at 
Tildy.  She  recognized  her  "sort"  in  a  moment.  Tildy  be- 
longed to  the  lodging-house  sort  of  girl.  What  she  could 
have  to  do  with  one  of  Agnes's  young  ladies  puzzled  that 
young  person  considerably.  It  was  the  rule,  however,  at 
Aylmer  House  that  no  one,  however  poor  or  humble,  should 
be  treated  with  rudeness,  and  certainly  a  person  bringing 
a  message  to  one  of  the  young  ladies  was  entitled  to  respect. 
Agnes  said,  therefore,  in  a  polite  and  superior  tone,  "  Step 
in,  will  you,  miss?  and  I  will  find  out  if  Miss  Rowland  is  in." 

Tildy  stepped  into  the  hall,  feeling,  as  she  expressed  it, 
"  dream-like  and  queer  all  over."  She  did  not  dare  to  sit 
down,  but  stood  on  the  mat,  gazing  with  her  bright,  inquisi- 
tive eyes  at  the  various  things  in  this  new  world  in  which 
she  found  herself. 

"  How  beauteous! "  she  kept  repeating  at  intervals.  "  Why, 
Laburnum  Villa  ain't  a  patch  on  this.  How  very  beauteous! 
No  wonder  Miss  Maggie  'ave  the  Aair  of  a  queen." 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  Maggie  Howland  was  out,  and 
would  not  be  back  for  some  time.  This  was  the  day  when 
she  and  the  other  girls  belonging  to  her  kingdom  had  gone 
forth  to  purchase  all  sorts  of  good  things  for  the  coming 
feast.  Maggie,  as  queen,  had  put  a  whole  sovereign  into  the 
bag.  There  would,  therefore,  be  no  stint  of  first-class  pro- 
visions. Every  sort  of  eatable  that  was  not  usually  per- 
mitted at  Aylmer  House  was  to  grace  the  b9ard — jelly,  me- 
ringues, frosted  cake,  tipsy  cake,  as  well  as  chickens  garnished 
in  the  most  exquisite  way  and  prepared  specially  by  a  con- 
fectioner round  the  corner;  also  different  dainties  in  aspic 


146  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

jellies  were  to  be  ordered.  Then  flowers  were  to  be  secured 
in  advance,  so  as  to  make  the  table  really  very  beautiful. 

Maggie,  Kathleen  O'Donnell,  and  Janet  were  the  people  se- 
lected to  arrange  about  the  supper.  Not  a  single  thing  was 
to  be  cooked  in  the  establishment;  this  would  give  extra 
trouble  to  the  servants,  and  was  therefore  not  to  be  permitted. 
The  girls  would  make  their  own  sandwiches;  and,  oh,  what 
troublesome  thoughts  they  had  over  these!  Maggie  was  in 
the  highest  spirits,  and  left  the  house  with  her  companions 
—Miss  Johnson,  of  course,  in  close  attendance — half-an-hour 
before  Tildy  with  her  ominous  letter  appeared  on  the  scene. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  Agnes  knew  nothing  at  all  of  the 
absence  of  the  young  ladies.  They  usually  went  out  by  a  side- 
door  which  had  been  specially  assigned  to  their  use  when 
the  house  was  turned  into  a  school.  As  Agnes  was  going 
upstairs,  however,  in  order  to  try  to  find  Maggie,  she  met 
Aneta  coming  down. 

"Oh  miss,"  she  said,  "can  you  tell  me  if  Miss  Rowland 
is  in?" 

"  No,"  said  Aneta,  "  I  happen  to  know  that  she  is  out,  and 
I  don't  think  she  will  be  in  for  some  little  time." 

"  Very  well,  miss;  the  young  person  will  be  sorry,  I  expect." 

"What  young  person?"  asked  Aneta,  eager  in  her  turn  to 
find  out  why  Maggie  was  inquired  for. 

"  A  girl,  miss,  who  has  called,  and  has  asked  very  particu- 
larly to  see  Miss  Rowland.  She's  rather  a  common  sort  of 
girl,  miss,  although  I  dare  say  she  means  well." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  her  myself,"  said  Aneta;  "  perhaps  I  can 
convey  a  message  from  her  to  Miss  Howland,  for  I  know  she 
won't  be  back  for  some  little  time." 

Agnes,  quite  relieved  in  her  mind,  turned  down  the  back- 
stairs and  went  to  attend  to  her  numerous  duties.  A  few 
minutes  after,  Aneta,  in  all  her  slim  grace,  stood  in  the  hall 
and  confronted  Tildy.  Aneta  was  herself  going  out;  she  was 
going  out  with  Mademoiselle  Laplage.  They  had  some  com- 
missions to  execute.  The  day  was  a  foggy  one,  and  they  were 
both  rather  in  a  hurry.  Nevertheless,  Aneta  stopped  to  say 
a  kind  word  to  Tildy.  Tildy  gazed  at  her  with  open-eyed 
admiration.  Beautiful  as  the  house  was,  this  young  lady 
was  indeed  a  radiant  and  dazzling  vision. 

"  She  made  me  sort  o'  choky,"  said  Tildy  as  she  related 
the  circumstance  afterwards  to  Mrs.  Martin.  "There  was 
a  Aair  about  her.  Well,  much  as  I  loves  our  Miss  Maggie, 
she  ain't  got  the  /iair  o'  that  beauteous  young  lady,  with  'er 
eyes  as  blue  as  the  sky,  and  'er  walk  so  very  distinguishi- 
fied." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you?  "  said  Aneta  now,  in  a  kind  tone. 

Tildy  dropped  an  awkward  curtsy.  "  I've  come,  miss,"  she 
said,  "  to  see  our  Miss  Maggie." 

"  Miss  Howland  is  out,"  said  Aneta. 

"Oh,  miss!"  replied  Tildy,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  be- 
ginning to  droop,  "  that's  crool  'ard  on  me.  Do  you  think, 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  147 

miss,  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to  inquire,  that  Miss  Maggie  '11 
be  in  soon?" 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  replied  Aneta;  "but  I  can  convey  any, 
message  you  like  to  her,  if  you  will  trust  me." 

"  Oh  miss,"  said  Tildy,  worshipping  Aneta  on  the  spot,  "  who 
wouldn't  trust  one  like  you?" 

"Well,  what  is  it?    What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"  I  was  maid,  miss — maid-of-all-work — at  Shepherd's  Bush 
when  Miss  Maggie  and  'er  ma  used  to  live  there;  and  when 
Mrs.  'Owland  married  Martin  the  grocer  they  was  that  kind 
they  took  me  to  live  at  Laburnum  Villa.  It's  a  very  rich 
and  comfortable  'ouse,  miss;  and  the  way  they  two  goes  on  is 
most  excitin'.  It's  joke,  joke,  and  play,  play,  from  morn  till 
night — that's  the  ma  and  steppa  of  Miss  Maggie.  I've  brought 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Martin  to  be  delivered  straight  to  Miss 
Maggie." 

I  can  give  it  to  her,"  said  Aneta  in  her  calm  voice. 

"  You'll  per'aps  mention,  miss,"  said  Tildy,  taking  the 
letter  from  her  pocket,  "  as  I  called,  and  as  I  love  our  dear 
Miss  Maggie  as  much  as  I  ever  did.  You'll  per'aps  say,  miss, 
with  my  dutiful  respects,  that  my  'eart  is  'ers,  and  always 
will  be." 

"  I  will  give  her  a  kind  message,"  said  Aneta,  "  and  safely 
deliver  her  mother's  letter  to  her.  I  am  afraid  there's  no  use 
in  asking  you  to  stay,  as  Miss  Howland  is  very  much  occupied 
just  now." 

"  Very  well,  miss,  I've  delivered  my  message  faithful." 

"  You  have." 

As  Aneta  spoke  she  herself  opened  the  hall-door. 

"  Good-day,  miss,"  said  Tildy,  dropping  another  curtsy, 
"  and  I  wishes  you  well." 

"  Good-day,"  replied  Aneta. 

Tildy's  little  form  was  swallowed  up  in  the  fog,  which 
was  growing  thicker  each  moment,  and  at  that  instant 
Mademoiselle  Laplage,  profuse  in  apologies  for  her  brief  delay, 
entered  the  hall. 

"  Pardon  me,  ma  chdre,  that  I  have  caused  you  to  wait.  I 
was  just  ready  to  descend,  when — see!  the  lace  of  my  shoe 
was  broken.  But  what  will  you?  You  will  go  out  in  this 
dreadful  fog?" 

Aneta  replied  in  French  that  she  did  not  think  the  fog 
was  too  thick,  and  the  French  governess  and  the  girl  went 
out  together  into  the  street.  But  all  the  time  Aneta  Lysle 
was  thinking  hard.  She  was  in  possession  of  Maggie's  secret. 
Her  stepfather,  instead  of  being  related  to  the  Martyns  of 
The  Meadows,  was  a  grocer!  Aneta  belonged  to  that  class  of 
persons  who  think  a  great  deal  of  good  birth.  She  did  not 
mind  Tildy  in  the  least,  for  Tildy  was  so  far  below  her  as 
to  be  after  a  fashion  quite  companionable;  but — a  grocerl 
Nevertheless,  Aneta  had  a  heart.  She  thought  of  Maggie,  and 
the  more  she  thought  of  her  the  more  pitiful  she  felt  towards 
her.  She  did  not  want  to  crush  or  humiliate  her  school- 


148  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

fellow.  She  felt  almost  glad  that  the  secret  of  Maggie's  un- 
happiness  had  been  made  known  to  her.  She  might  at  last 
gain  a  true  influence  over  the  girl. 

Her  walk,  therefore,  with  Mademoiselle  Laplage  took  place 
almost  in  silence.  They  hastily  executed  their  commissions, 
and  presently  found  themselves  in  Pearce's  shop,  where  Aneta 
had  taken  a  brooch  a  day  or  two  ago  to  have  a  pin  put  on. 

The  shopman,  as  he  handed  her  the  mended  brooch,  said 
at  the  same  time,  "  If  you  will  excuse  me,  miss,  you  are  one 
of  the  young  ladies  who  live  at  Aylmer  House?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Aneta,  "  that  is  true." 

"  Then  I  wonder,  miss,  if  "-  -  He  paused  a  minute,  looked 
hard  at  the  girl,  and  then  C9ntinued,  "Might  my  brother 
speak  to  you  for  a  minute,  miss?" 

"  But  it  make  so  cold! "  said  mademoiselle,  who  knew  very 
little  of  the  English  tongue,  "and  behold— zee  fog!  I  have 
such  fear  of  it.  It  is  not  to  joke  when  it  fogs  in  your  country, 
ma  chere.  11  faute  bien  depecher." 

"  I  shall  be  quite  ready  to  come  back  with  you  in  a  minute 
or  two,"  said  Aneta. 

Just  then  the  man  who  had  bought  the  brooch  from  Maggie 
appeared.  "  I  am  very  sorry,  miss,"  he  said,  "  but  I  thought 
that,  instead  of  writing  to  Miss  Howland,  I  might  send  her 
a  message;  otherwise  I  should  have  to  see  Mrs.  Ward  on 
the  matter." 

"But  what  matter  is  it?"  said  Aneta.  "You  want  to  see 
Miss  Howland,  or  you  want  me  to  take  her  a  message?" 

"  Well,  miss,  it's  no  special  secret;  only  my  brother  and 
I  cannot  afford  to  buy  the  brooch  which  she  sold  us  the  other 
day." 

"  But  I  don't  understand,"  said  Aneta.  "  Miss  Howland  sold 
you  a  brooch?  Then  if  she  sold  it,  you  did  buy  it." 

"The  fact  is,  miss,"  said  young  Pearce,  coloring  rather 
deeply,  "  I  was  not  myself  quite  aware  of  its  value  at  the 
time,  and  I  gave  the  young  lady  much  too  small  a  sum  of 
money  for  it.  I  want  her  to  return  me  the  money,  and  I 
will  give  her  back  the  brooch.  My  brother  and  I  have  been 
talking  it  over,  and  we  cannot  do  an  injustice  to  one  of  the 
ladies  at  Aylmer  House — it  is  quite  impossible." 

"  I  will  give  your  message,"  said  Aneta  coldly.  "  Please  do 
not  purchase  anything  else  from  Miss  Howland.  She  will 
doubtless  call  to  see  you  to-morrow." 

"Thank  you,  miss;  then  that  is  all  right,"  said  the  man, 
looking  much  relieved. 

Aneta  hastened  home.  She  felt  perplexed  and  alarmed. 
She  must  see  Maggie,  and  as  soon  as  possible.  It  was  a  strange 
fact  that  while  Maggie  was  in  no  danger  at  all,  while  every- 
thing seemed  to  be  going  right  with  her,  and  as  long  as  she 
held  an  undeniable  position  in  the  school  as  one  of  the  queens, 
Aneta  could  scarcely  endure  her;  that  now  that  Maggie  How- 
land,  was,  so  to  speak,  at  her  mercy,  this  girl,  whose  nature 
was  fine  and  brave  and  good,  felt  a  strong  desire  to  help  her. 


THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS.  149 

There  were,  however,  very  strict  rules  at  Aylmer  House, 
and  one  of  them  was  that  no  girl  on  any  account  whatsoever 
was  to  sell  any  of  her  possessions  in  order  to  make  money. 
This  was  one  of  the  unwritten  rules  of  the  school;  but  the 
idea  of  an  Aylmer  House  girl  really  requiring  to  do  such  a 
thing  was  never  contemplated  for  an  instant.  There  were 
broad  lines  of  conduct,  however,  which  no  girl  was  expected 
to  pass.  Liberty  was  allowed  to  a  great  extent  at  Aylmer 
House;  but  it  was  a  liberty  which  only  those  who  struggle 
to  walk  in  the  right  path  can  fully  enjoy.  Crooked  ways, 
underhand  dealings,  could  not  be  permitted  in  the  school. 

Maggie  had  done  quite  enough  to  cause  her  to  be  expelled. 
There  had  been  times  when  Aneta  almost  wished  for  this; 
when  she  had  felt  deep  down  in  her  heart  that  Maggie  How- 
land  was  the  one  adverse  influence  in  the  school;  when  she 
had  been  certain  that  if  Maggie  Rowland  were  removed  all  the 
other  girls  would  come  more  or  less  under  her  own  gentle 
sway,  and  she  would  be  queen,  not  of  the  greater  number 
of  the  girls  at  Aylmer  House,  but  of  all  the  girls,  and  very 
gentle,  very  loving,  very  sympathetic  would  be  her  rule.  Her 
subjects  should  feel  her  sympathy,  but  at  the  same  time 
they  should  acknowledge  her  power.  Maggie's  was  a  counter- 
influence;  and  now  there  was  a  chance  of  putting  a  stop  to  it. 

Aneta  knew  well  that,  kind  as  Mrs.  Ward  was  to  Maggie, 
she  did  not  in  her  heart  absolutely  trust  her.  Therefore, 
if  Maggie  left  it  would  also  be  a  relief  to  Mrs.  Ward.  Miss 
Johnson  might  be  sorry,  and  one  or  two  of  the  girls  might 
be  sorry;  in  particular,  dear  little  Merry.  Aneta  had  a  great 
love  for  Merry,  and  was  deeply  sorry  to  feel  that  Merry  was 
under  Maggie's  spell;  that  was  the  case,  although  she  did 
not  openly  belong  to  Maggie's  party.  So  Merry  too  would 
be  saved  if  Maggie  left  the  school.  Oh!  it  was  most  desirable, 
and  Aneta  held  the  key  of  the  position  in  her  hand.  She 
also  had  in  her  pocket  Mrs.  Martin's  letter.  That  did  not 
perhaps  so  greatly  matter,  for  Maggie's  father,  whatever  her 
mother  had  done,  was  himself  a  gentleman;  but  the  fact  of 
Maggie's  slipping  out  of  doors  alone  to  sell  an  ornament  was 
a  sufficiently  grave  offense  to  banish  her  from  such  a  school 
as  Alymer  House. 

Yes,  Aneta  could  send  her  away,  but  it  might  be  managed 
dexterously.  Maggie  might  stay  till  the  end  of  the  present 
term  and  then  go,  knowing  herself  that  she  would  never 
return,  whereas  the  girls  would  know  nothing  about  it  until 
the  beginning  of  the  next  term,  when  they  would  no  longer 
see  her  familiar  face  or  hear  her  pleasant  voice.  A  few  of 
them  might  be  sorry,  but  they  would  quickly  forget.  The 
school  would  be  the  better  for  her  absence.  The  thing  could 
be  done,  and  it  would  be  done,  if  Aneta  used  that  knowledge 
which  she  now  possessed. 

The  girls  all  met  at  tea,  and  Maggie  was  in  the  highest 
spirits.  She  knew  nothing  whatever  of  all  the  information 
which  Aneta  had  gathered  in  her  absence.  She  knew  nothing 


150  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

of  Tildy's  arrival,  of  Tildy's  departure,  nor  of  the  letter  which" 
Aneta  had  put  into  one  of  her  drawers.  Still  less  did  she 
know  anything  of  Pearce  and  his  betrayal  of  her.  She  and 
her  companions  had  had  a  very  pleasant  time,  and  imme- 
diately after  tea,  in  the  "  leisure  hours,"  they  were  to  meet 
in  the  girl's  private  sitting-room  to  discuss  matters  officially. 

The  Aneta  girls  had,  by  common  consent,  given  up  the  room 
to  them  during  these  last  important  days.  There  were  plenty 
of  nooks  and  corners  all  over  the  cheerful  house  where  they 
could  amuse  themselves  and  talk  secrets,  and  have  that  sort 
of  confidence  which  schoolgirls  delight  in. 

As  soon  as  tea  was  over  Maggie  jumped  up  and  said,  "  Now, 
Kitty  " — she  turned  to  Kathleen  O'Donnell  as  she  spoke — "  you 
and  I,  and  Rosamond  and  Jane,  and  Matty  and  Clara,  and 
the  Tristrams  will  get  through  our  work  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible.— I  suppose,  girls  " — here  she  glanced  at  Aneta  in  par- 
ticular— "  you  will  let  us  have  the  sitting-room  as  usual  dur- 
ing the  leisure  hours?" 

"  Of  course  we  will,"  said  Sylvia  St.  John  in  her  gentle 
tone;  but  she  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  before  Aneta 
rose. 

"  Of  course  you  can  have  the  sitting-room,"  she  said;  "but 
I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Maggie." 

"  You  can't,  I  am  afraid,  just  now,"  said  Maggie.  "  I  am 
much  too  busy. — We  have  to  go  into  accounts,  girls,"  she 
added.  "  There  are  no  end  of  things  to  be  done,  besides,  at 
the  rehearsal."  Here  she  dropped  her  voice  slightly. 

"  The  rest  of  you  can  go  to  the  sitting-room  and  do  what 
is  necessary,"  continued  Aneta.  "  I  want  you,  Maggie,  and 
you  had  better  come  with  me."  She  spoke  very  firmly. 

A  dogged  look  came  into  Maggie's  face.  She  threw  back  her 
head  and  glanced  full  at  Aneta.  "  I  go  with  you,"  she  said, 
"  just  because  you  ask  me,  forsooth !  You  forget  yourself, 
Queen  Aneta.  I  also  am  a  queen  and  have  a  kingdom." 

"  My  business  with  you  has  something  to  do  with  a  person 
who  calls  herself  Tildy,"  said  Aneta  in  her  gravest  voice;  and 
Maggie  suddenly  felt  as  though  a  cold  douche  had  been  thrown 
over  her.  She  colored  a  vivid  red.  Then  she  turned  eagerly 
to  Kathleen. 

"I  won't  be  a  minute,"  she  said.  "You  all  go  into  the  sitting- 
room  and  get  the  accounts  in  order.  You  might  also  go  over 
that  tableaux  with  Diana  Vernon. — Kathleen,  you  know  that 
you  must  put  a  little  more  life  into  your  face  than  you  did 
the  other  day;  and — and — oh  dear,  how  annoying  this  is! — 
Yes,  of  course  I  will  go  with  you,  Aneta.  You  won't  keep  me 
a  minute?" 

Maggie  and  Aneta  left  the  room. 

Merry  turned  to  her  sister  and  said  in  a  troubled  voice,  "  I 
can't  imagine  why  it  is  that  Aneta  doesn't  care  for  poor  Mag- 

Eie.    I  love  Aneta,  of  course,  for  she  is  our  very  own  cousin; 
ut  I  cannot  understand  her  want  of  sympathy  for  dearest 
Maggie." 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  151 

"  I  am  not  altogether  quite  so  fond  of  Maggie  as  you  are, 
Merry;  and  you  know  that,"  said  Cicely. 

"I  know  it,"  said  Merry.  "You  are  altogether  taken  up 
with  Aneta." 

"  Oh,  and  with  school  generally,"  said  Cicely,  "  it  is  all  so 
splendid.  But  come,  we  are  alone  in  the  room,  and  losing 
some  of  our  "delightful  leisure  hours." 

The  Maggie-girls  had  meanwhile  retired  into  the  sitting- 
room,  where  they  stood  together  in  groups,  talking  about  the 
excitement  which  was  to  take  place  on  the  following  Saturday 
(it  was  now  Thursday) ,  and  paying  very  little  heed  to  Maggie's 
injunctions  to  put  the  accounts  in  order. 

"Don't  bother  about  accounts,"  said  Kitty;  "there's  heaps 
of  money  left  in  the  bag.  Wasn't  it  scrumptious  of  old  Mags 
to  put  a  whole  sovereign  in?  And  I  know  she  is  not  rich,  the 
dear  old  precious!" 

"  She  is  exactly  the  sort  of  girl  who  would  do  a  generous 
thing,"  said  Clara  Roache,  "  and  of  course,  as  queen,  she  felt 
that  she  must  put  a  little  more  money  into  the  bag  than  the 
rest  of  us." 

"  Well,  she  needn't,"  said  Kathleen.  "  I'd  have  loved  her 
just  as  much  if  she  hadn't  put  a  penny  in.  She  is  a  duck, 
though!  I  can't  think  why  I  care  so  much  about  her,  for 
she's  not  beautiful." 

"Strictly  speaking,  she  is  plain,"  said  Janet  Burns;  "but 
in  a  case  like  Maggie's  plain  face  doesn't  matter  in  the  least." 

"  She  has  got  something  inside,"  said  Matty,  "  which  makes 
up  for  her  plain  features.  It's  her  soul  shining  out  of  her 
eyes." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Kathleen  O'Donnell;  "  and  it  fills  her 
voice  too.  She  has  got  power  and — what  you  call  charm.  She 
is  meant  to  rule  people." 

"  I  admire  her  myself  more  than  Aneta  Lysle,"  said  Janet 
Burns,  "  although  of  course  all  the  world  would  call  Aneta 
beautiful." 

"Yes,  that  is  quite  true,"  said  Kathleen;  "but  I  call  Aneta 
a  little  stiff,  and  she  is  very  determined  too,  and  she  doesn't 
like  poor  old  Mags  one  single  bit.  Wasn't  it  jolly  of  Mags  to 
get  up  this  glorious  day  for  us?  Won't  we  have  fun?  Aneta 
may  look  to  her  laurels,  for  it's  my  opinion  that  the  Gibsons 
and  the  Cardews  will  both  come  over  to  our  side  after  Satur- 
day." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  and  Maggie's  ab- 
sence was  deplored,  and  no  business  whatever  was  being  done 
towards  the  entertainment  of  Saturday,  Maggie  found  herself 
seated  opposite  to  Aneta  in  Aneta's  own  bedroom.  Maggie  felt 
queer  and  shaken.  She  did  not  quite  know  what  was  the 
matter.  Aneta's  face  was  very  quiet. 

After  a  time  she  drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket  and  put  it 
into  Maggie's  hand. 

"Who  brought  this?"  asked  Maggie. 

"  A  person  who  called  herself  Tildy." 


152  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

Maggie  held  the  letter  unopened  in  her  lap. 

"Why  don't  you  read  it?"  said  Aneta. 

Maggie  took  it  up  and  glanced  at  the  handwriting.  Then 
she  put  it  down  again. 

"  It's  from  my  mother,"  she  said.    "  It  can  keep." 

'  I  cannot  imagine,"  said  Aneta,  "  anybody  waiting  even  for 
one  moment  to  read  a  letter  which  one's  own  mother  has  writ- 
ten. My  mother  is  dead,  you  know." 

She  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  and  her  pretty  eyelashes  rested 
on  her  softly  rounded  cheeks. 

Maggie  looked  at  her.  "  Why  did  you  bring  me  up  here, 
Aneta,  away  from  all  the  others,  away  from  our  important 
business,  to  give  me  this  letter?  " 

'  I  thought  you  would  rather  have  it  in  private,"  said  Aneta. 

"  You  thought  more  than  that,  Aneta." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  more  than  that,"  said  Aneta  in  her  gentlest 
tone. 

Maggie's  queer,  narrow  eyes  flashed  fire.  Suddenly  she 
stood  up.  "  You  have  something  to  say.  Say  it,  and  be  quick, 
for  I  must  go." 

"I  don't  think  you  must  go  just  yet,  Maggie;  for  what  I 
have  to  say  cannot  be  said  in  a  minute.  You  will  have  to 
give  up  your  leisure  hours  to-day." 

"I  cannot.    Our  entertainment  is  on  Saturday." 

"  The  entertainment  must  wait,"  said  Aneta.  "  It  is  of  no 
consequence  compared  to  what  I  have  to  say  to  you." 

"  Oh,  have  it  out!  "  said  Maggie.  "  You  were  always  spying 
and  prying  on  me.  You  always  hated  me.  I  don't  know  what 
I  have  done  to  you.  I'd  have  left  you  alone  if  you  had  left 
me  alone;  but  you  have  interfered  with  me  and  made  my 
life  miserable.  God  knows,  I  am  not  too  happy" — Maggie 
struggled  with  her  emotion — "but  you  have  made  things 
twice  as  bad." 

"Do  you  really,  really  think  that,  Maggie?  Please  don't 
say  any  more,  then,  until  you  hear  me  out  to  the  end.  I 
will  tell  you  as  quickly  as  possible;  I  will  put  you  out  of  sus- 
pense. I  could  have  made  things  very  different  for  you,  but 
at  least  I  will  put  you  out  of  suspense." 

"Well,  go  on;  I  am  willing  to  listen.  I  hope  you  will  be 
brief." 

"  It  is  this,  Maggie.  I  will  say  nothing  about  your  past; 
I  simply  tell  you  what,  though  no  fault  of  mine,  I  found 
out  to-day.  You  gave  the  girls  of  this  school  to  understand 
that  your  mother's  husband — your  stepfather — was  a  gentle- 
man of  old  family.  The  person  called  Tildy  told  me  about 
Mr.  Martin.  He  may  be  a  gentleman  by  nature,  but  he  is  not 
one  by  profession." 

Maggie  clutched  one  of  her  hands  so  tightly  that  the  nails 
almost  pierced  her  flesh. 

"  I  won't  hurt  you,  Maggie,  by  saying  much  on  that  subject. 
Your  own  father  was  a  gentleman,  and  you  cannot  help  your 
mother  having  married  beneath  her." 


THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS.  153 

Maggie  gasped.    Such  words  as  these  from  the  proud  Aneta! 

"  But  there  is  worse  to  follow,"  continued  Aneta.  "  I  hap- 
pened to  go  to  Pearce's  to-day." 

Maggie,  who  had  half-risen,  sank  back  again  in  her  seat. 

"  And  Pearce  wants  to  see  you  in  order  to  return  a  brooch 
which  you  sold  him.  He  says  that  he  cannot  afford  the  right 
price  for  the  brooch.  He  wants  you  to  give  him  back  the 
money  which  he  lent  you  on  it,  and  he  wants  you  to  have  the 
brooch  again  in  your  possession.  You,  of  course,  know,  Mag- 
gie, that  in  selling  one  of  your  belongings  and  in  going  out 
•without  leave  you  broke  one  of  the  fundamental  rules  of 

Aylmer  House.  You  know  that,  therefore Why,  what 

is  the  matter?" 

Maggie's  queer  face  was  working  convulsively.  After  a  time 
slow,  big  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes.  Her  complexion  changed 
from  its  usual  dull  ugliness  to  a  vivid  red;  it  then  went  white, 
so  ghastly  white  that  the  girl  might  have  been  going  to 
faint.  All  this  took  place  in  less  than  a  minute.  At  the  end 
of  that  time  Maggie  was  her  old  disdainful,  angry  self  once 
more. 

"You  must  be  very  glad,"  she  said.  "You  have  me  in 
your  power  at  last.  My  stepfather  is  a  grocer.  He  keeps 
a  shop  at  Shepherd's  Bush.  He  is  one  of  the  most  horribly 
vulgar  men  that  ever  lived.  Had  I  been  at  home  my  mother 
would  not  have  consented  to  marry  him.  But  my  mother, 
although  pretty  and  refined-looking,  and  in  herself  a  lady, 
has  little  force  of  character,  and  she  was  quite  alone  and 
very  poor  indeed.  You,  who  don't  know  the  meaning  of  the 
word  '  poor,'  cannot  conceive  what  it  meant  to  her.  Little 
Merry  guessed — dear,  dear  little  Merry;  but  as  to  you,  you 
think  when  you  subscribe  to  this  charity  and  the  other,  you 
think  when  you  adopt  an  East  End  child  and  write  letters  to 
her,  and  give  of  your  superabundance  to  benefit  her,  that  you 
understand  the  poor.  I  tell  you  you  don't!  Your  wealth  is 
a  curse  to  you,  not  a  blessing.  You  no  more  understand  what 
people  like  mother  and  like  myself  have  lived  through  than 
you  understand  what  the  inhabitants  of  Mars  do — the  petty 
shifts,  the  smallnesses,  the  queer  efforts  to  make  two  ends 
meet  I  You  in  your  lovely  home,  and  surrounded  by  lovely 
things,  and  your  aunt  so  proud  of  you — how  can  you  under- 
stand what  lodgings  in  the  hot  weather  in  Shepherd's  Bush 
are  like?  Mother  understood — never  any  fresh  air,  never 
any  tempting  food;  Tildy,  that  poor  little  faithful  girl  as  serv- 
ant— slavey  was  her  right  name;  Tildy  at  every  one's  beck 
and  call,  always  with  a  smut  on  her  cheek,  and  her  hair  so 
untidy,  and  her  little  person  so  disreputable;  and  mother 
alone,  wondering  how  she  could  make  two  ends  meet.  Talk 
of  your  knowing  what  the  poor  people  in  my  class  go 
through ! " 

"  I  don't  pretend  that  I  do  know,  Maggie,"  said  Aneta,  who 
was  impressed  by  the  passion  and  strength  of  Maggie's  words. 
"  I  don't  pretend  it  for  a  moment.  The  poverty  of  such  lives  is 
10  k 


154  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

to  me  a  sealed  book.  But — forgive  me — if  you  are  so  poor, 
how  could  you  come  here?  " 

"  I  don't  mind  your  knowing  everything  now,"  said  Maggie. 
"  I  am  disgraced,  and  nothing  will  ever  get  me  out  of  my 
trouble.  I  am  up  to  my  neck,  and  I  may  as  well  drown  at 
once;  but  Mrs.  Ward — she  understood  what  a  poor  girl  whose 
father  was  a  gentleman  could  feel,  and  she — oh,  she  was 
good! — she  took  me  for  so  little  that  mother  could  afford  it. 
She  made  no  difference  between  you  and  me,  Aneta,  who  are 
so  rich,  and  your  cousins  the  Cardews,  who  are  so  rich  too. 
She  said,  "  Maggie  Rowland,  your  father  was  a  gentleman 
and  a  man  of  honor,  a  man  of  whom  his  country  was  proud; 
and  I  will  educate  you,  and  give  you  your  chance."  And,  oh, 
I  was  happy  here!  And  I — and  I  should  be  happy  now  but 
for  you  and  your  prying  ways." 

"  You  are  unkind  to  me,  Maggie.  The  knowledge  that  your 
stepfather  was  a  grocer  was  brought  to  me  in  a  most  unex- 
pected way.  I  was  not  to  blame  for  the  little  person  who 
called  herself  Tildy  coming  here  to-day.  Tildy  felt  no  shame 
in  the  fact  that  your  mother  had  married  a  grocer.  She 
was  far  more  lady-like  about  it  than  you  are,  Maggie.  No 
one  could  have  blamed  you  because  your  mother  chose  to 
marry  beneath  her.  But  you  were  to  blame,  Maggie,  when 
you  gave  us  to  understand  that  her  husband  was  in  quite 
a  different  position  from  what  he  is." 

"  And  you  think,"  said  Maggie,  stamping  her  foot,  "  that  the 
girls  of  this  house — Kathleen  O'Donnell,  Sylvia  St.  John,  Hen- 
rietta and  Mary  Gibson,  the  Cardews,  the  Tristrams,  you  your- 
self— would  put  up  with  me  for  a  single  moment  if  it  was 
known  what  my  mother  has  done?  " 

"  I  think  you  underrate  us  all,"  said  Aneta.  Then  she  came 
close  to  Maggie  and  took  one  of  her  hands.  "  I  want  to  tell 
you  something,"  she  added. 

Maggie  had  never  before  allowed  her  hand  to  remain  for  a 
second  in  Aneta's  grasp.  But  there  was  something  at  this 
moment  about  the  young  girl,  a  look  in  her  eyes,  which  abso- 
lutely puzzled  Maggie  and  caused  her  to  remain  mute.  She 
had  struggled  for  a  minute,  but  now  her  hand  lay  still  in 
Aneta's  clasp. 

"  I  want  to  help  you,"  said  Aneta. 

"To— help  me!     How?    I  thought  you  hated  me." 

"  Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Aneta,  "  I  did  not  love 
you  until " 

"Until?"  said  Maggie,  her  eyes  shining  and  her  little  face 
beooming  transformed  in  a  minute. 

"  Until  I  knew  what  you  must  have  suffered." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  love  me  now?  " 

"  I  believe,"  said  Aneta,  looking  fixedly  at  Maggie,  "  that  I 
could  love  you." 

"Oh!"  said  Maggie.  She  snatched  her  hand  away,  and, 
walking  to  the  window,  looked  out.  The  fog  was  thicker  than 
ever,  and  she  could  see  nothing.  But  that  did  not  matter. 


THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS.  155 

She  wanted  to  keep  her  back  turned  to  Aneta.  Presently  her 
shoulders  began  to  heave,  and,  taking  her  handkerchief  from 
her  pocket,  she  pressed  it  to  her  eyes.  Then  she  turned 
round.  "  Go  on,"  she  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Aneta. 

"  Say  what  you  want  to  say.  I  am  the  stepdaughter  of  a 
grocer,  and  I  have  broken  one  of  the  strictest  rules  in  the 
school.  When  will  you  tell  Mrs.  Ward?  I  had  better  leave 
at  once." 

"  You  needn't  leave  at  all." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"I  mean,"  said  Aneta,  "that  if  you  will  tell  Mrs.  Ward 
everything — all  about  your  stepfather,  and  all  about  your 
selling  that  jewel  and  going  out  without  leave — I  am  posi- 
tively sure  that  dear  Mrs.  Ward  will  not  expel  you  from  the 
school.  I  am  also  sure,  Maggie,  that  there  will  not  be  one 
girl  at  Aylmer  House  who  will  ever  reproach  you.  As  to 
your  stepfather  being  what  he  is,  no  girl  in  her  senses  would 
blame  you  for  that.  You  are  the  daughter  of  Professor  How- 
land,  one  of  the  greatest  explorers  of  his  time — a  man  who 
has  had  a  book  written  about  him,  and  has  largely  contributed 
to  the  world's  knowledge.  Don't  forget  that,  please;  none  of 
us  are  likely  to  forget  it.  As  to  the  other  thing — well,  there 
is  always  the  road  of  confession,  and  I  am  quite  certain  that 
if  you  will  see  Mrs.  Ward  she  will  be  kind  to  you  and  forgive 
you;  for  her  heart  is  very  big  and  her  sympathies  very  wide; 
and  then,  afterwards,  I  myself  will,  for  your  sake,  try  to 
understand  your  position,  and  I  myself  will  be  your  true 
friend." 

"  Oh  Aneta!  "  said  Maggie. 

She  ran  up  to  Aneta;  she  took  her  hand;  she  raised  it  to  her 
lips  and  kissed  it. 

"  Give  me  till  to-morrow,"  she  said.  "  Promise  that  you 
won't  say  anything  till  to-morrow." 

Aneta  promised.    Maggie  went  to  her  room. 

CHAPTER   XXII. 
ANETA'S  PLAN. 

THE  girls  downstairs  wondered  why  Maggie  Howland  did 
not  appear.  After  an  hour  of  waiting  Kathleen  O'Donnell  took 
the  lead.  The  accounts  were  left  alone,  but  the  tableaux  vi- 
vants  were  diligently  rehearsed,  the  Tristrams  and  Jane  Burns 
being  the  three  critics;  Rosamond  Dacre,  Kathleen  O'Donnell, 
and  Matty  and  Clara  Roache  the  performers.  But,  somehow, 
there  was  no  life  in  the  acting,  for  the  moving  spirit  was  not 
there;  the  bright,  quick  eye  was  missed,  the  eager  words  were 
lacking,  with  the  pointed  and  telling  criticism.  Then  there 
was  the  scene  where  Maggie  herself  was  to  take  a  part.  It 
was  from  The  Talisman,  and  a  night-scene,  which  she  was 
able  to  render  with  great  precision  and  even  beauty,  and 
the  dim  light  would  be  in  her  favor.  It  was  to  be  the  crown- 


156  THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

ing  one,  and  the  last  of  the  tableaux.  It  was  expected  to 
bring  down  the  house.  But  Maggie  was  not  there,  and  the 
girls  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  disconsolate  and  a  little 
surprised. 

At  supper  that  evening  there  were  eager  inquiries  with  re- 
gard to  Maggie  Howland.  All  the  girls  came  up  to  ask  Aneta 
where  the  other  queen  was." 

"  She  is  not  quite  well,  and  has  gone  to  bed,"  said  Aneta. 
"  She  does  not  wish  to  be  disturbed  until  the  morning." 

Aneta's  words  had  a  curious  effect  upon  every  one  who 
heard  her  speak.  It  was  as  though  she  had,  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  absolutely  taken  Maggie's  part.  Her  eyes,  when 
she  spoke  of  Maggie,  were  full  of  affection.  The  girls  were 
puzzled;  but  Merry,  as  they  turned  away,  suddenly  ran  back 
to  Aneta,  swept  her  arm  round  the  girl's  neck,  and  said,  "  Oh 
Neta,  I  do  love  you!" 

Aneta  pressed  Merry's  hand.  For  the  first  time  these  two 
understood  each  other. 

Meanwhile  poor  Maggie  was  living  through  one  of  the  most 
dreadful  periods  of  her  life.  Her  mother's  intimation  that  she 
and  her  stepfather  were  coming  without  fail  to  Aylmer 
House  on  Saturday — the  day,  the  glorious  day  when  Maggie 
and  her  friends  were  to  entertain  Mrs.  Ward  and  the  rest  of 
the  school — drove  the  girl  nearly  wild.  Aneta  had  discovered 
her  secret,  and  Aneta  had  urged,  as  the  one  way  out,  the  pain- 
ful but  salutary  road  of  confession.  Maggie  writhed  at  the 
thought,  but  she  writhed  far  more  terribly  at  the  news  which 
her  mother's  letter  contained. 

The  girl  said  to  herself,  "I  cannot  stand  it!  I  will  run 
away!  He  has  destroyed  my  last  chance.  I  will  run  away 
and  hide.  I  will  go  to-night.  There  is  no  use  in  waiting. 
Aneta  is  kind;  she  is  far  kinder  than  I  could  ever  have  given 
her  credit  for.  She  would,  I  believe,  help  me;  and  dear  Mrs. 
Ward  would  help  me-»-I  am  sure  of  that.  And  I  don't  really 
mind  now  that  it  comes  to  the  point  of  losing  my  position 
in  the  school  as  queen;  but  for  all  the  school — for  the  Tris- 
trams,  for  Merry  Cardew,  for  Kathleen — to  see  that  man  is 
beyond  my  power  of  endurance.  He  will  call  here,  and  he 
will  bring  poor  mother,  but  as  I  won't  be  here  I  won't  feel  any- 
thing. I  will  go  to-night.  I'll  slip  downstairs  and  let  my- 
self out.  I  have  some  money — thank  goodness  for  that! — 
and  I  have  my  father's  treasures.  I  can  take  them  out  of  the 
tin  box  and  wear  them  on  my  person,  and  I  can  sell  them  one 
by  one.  Yes,  I  will  run  away.  There's  no  help  for  it." 

Maggie,  at  Aneta's  suggestion,  had  got  into  bed,  but  even 
to  think  of  sleep  was  beyond  her  power.  She  got  up  again 
presently,  dressed,  and  sat  by  the  foggy  window.  The  fog 
was  worse;  it  was  so  thick  now  that  you  could  not  see  your 
way  even  as  far  as  the  trees  in  the  middle  of  the  square. 
There  were  fog-signals  sounding  from  time  to  time,  and  cabs 
going  very  slowiy,  and  boys  carrying  torches  to  light  belated 
and  lost  passengers. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  157 

Maggie  was  safe  enough  in  her  room,  which  had,  like  all 
the  other  bedrooms  at  Aylmer  House,  a  small  fire  burning 
in  the  grate.  By-and-by  some  one  tapped  at  the  door.  Mag- 
gie said,  "Don't  come  in";  but  her  words  were  unheeded. 
The  door  was  opened  an  inch  or  two,  and  Merry  Cardew  en- 
tered. 

"Oh  Merry,  you — of  all  people!"  said  Maggie. 

"And  why  not?"  said  Merry.  "I  am  your  friend — your 
own  very,  very  great  friend.  What  is  the  matter,  Mags? 
You  were  so  jolly  at  tea;  what  can  have  happened  since?  " 

"Something  most  dreadful,"  said  Maggie;  "but  you  will 
know  on  Saturday." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Merry,  coming  up  to  Maggie  and  dropping  on 
her  knees  and  fondling  one  of  the  girl's  cold  hands,  "  why 
should  I  wait  till  Saturday?  Why  should  I  not  know  now?  " 

"  I  can't  talk  of  it,  Merry.  I  am  glad  you — you — loved  me. 
You  won't  love  me  in  the  future.  But  kiss  me  just  this  once." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  leave  you  like  this,"  said  Merry. 

"You  must,  dear;  yes,  you  must.  Please,  please  go!  And 
— please,  be  quick.  Some  one  will  see  us  together.  Lucy 
Johnson  will  come  in.  Oh!  don't  make  matters  worse  for  me. 
Good-night,  Merry,  good-night." 

Maggie  seemed  so  anxious  that  Merry  should  go  that  the 
girl  felt  hurt  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Good-night,  Merry  dear,"  said  Maggie  as  Merry  was  walk- 
ing towards  the  door.  Then  she  added,  in  a  semi- whisper 
which  Merry  did  not  catch,  "And  good-bye,  Merry  dear;  we 
shall  never  meet  again." 

Merry  left  the  room,  feeling  full  of  apprehension.  She 
thought  for  a  minute  as  she  stood  outside.  Then  she  went 
and  knocked  at  Aneta's  door. 

"Aneta,  may  I  come  in?" 

"  Of  course,  dear.    What  is  the  matter?  "  said  her  cousin. 

Merry  entered  at  once. 

"  I  have  been  to  see  Maggie.  She  is  awfully  queer.  Oh,  I 
know  I  broke  the  rules.  I  must  tell  Miss  Johnson  in  the 
morning." 

"  I  did  beg  of  you,  Merry,  not  to  go  to  her,"  said  Aneta. 

"Yes,  I  know  you  did;  but  I  could  not  help  thinking  and 
thinking  about  her.  She  is  very  queer.  Her  eyes  look  so 
strange." 

"  I  hoped  she  w-as  in  bed  and  asleep,"  said  Aneta. 

"  In  bed!  "  said  Merry.  "  Not  a  bit  of  it.  She  was  up  and 
sitting  by  the  window  gazing  at  the  fog." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  her  myself,"  said  Aneta. 

"Will  you,  Neta?    And  you  will  be  kind  to  her?" 

"  Yes,  darling,  of  course." 

"Somehow,  she  used  to  think  that — that  you  didn't  love 
her,"  said  Merry. 

"  Nor  did  I,"  said  Aneta.  "  But  I  will  be  kind  to  her;  don't 
be  afraid.  I  think  I  can  guess  what  is  the  matter." 

"  It  is  all  very  queer,"  said  Merry.     "  She  was  in  such 


158  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

splendid  spirits  to-day;  all  the  girls  said  so  when  they  were 
out  preparing  for  our  party,  and  now  she  looks  years  older  and 
utterly  miserable." 

"  Go  to  bed,  Merry,  and  leave  your  friend  in  my  care." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  it  wrong  of  me  to  be  very  fond 
of  her?" 

"  I  do  not,  Merry.  There  was  a  time  when  I  hoped  you 
would  not  care  for  her;  now  I  earnestly  want  you  to  be  her 
true  friend.  There  is  a  very  great  deal  of  good  in  her,  and 
she  has  had  many  sorrows.  Pray  for  her  to-night.  Don't 
be  anxious.  Everything  will  come  as  right  as  possible." 

"  Oh  Neta,"  said  Merry,  "  you  are  a  darling!  And  when  you 
talk  like  that  I  love  you  more  than  I  ever  did  before.  You 
see,  dear,  I  could  not  help  caring  for  Maggie  from  the  very 
first,  and  nothing  nor  anybody  can  alter  my  love." 

Aneta  kissed  Merry,  who  left  the  room.  Then  Aneta  herself, 
taking  up  her  candle,  went  out.  She  was  wearing  a  long 
white  wrapper,  and  her  clouds  of  golden  hair  were  falling 
far  below  her  waist.  She  looked  almost  like  an  angel  as 
she  went  down  the  corridor  as  far  as  Miss  Johnson's  room. 

Lucy  Johnson  was  just  getting  into  bed  when  Aneta  knocked. 

"What  is  it,  Neta?"  said  the  governess  in  a  tone  almost 
of  alarm. 

"I  want  to  break  a  rule,  Lucy,"  said  Aneta;  "so  put  me 
down  for  punishment  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  but  why?    What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"I  am  going  to  do  something  which  I  shall  be  punished 
for.  I  am  going  to  spend  to-night,  if  necessary,  with  Maggie 
Howland." 

"  Is  she  ill,  Neta?    Ought  we  to  send  for  the  doctor?  " 

"  Oh  no,  she  is  not  a  bit  ill  in  that  way.  Good-night,  Lucy; 
I  felt  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

Aneta  continued  her  way  until  she  reached  Maggie's  room. 
It  was  now  past  midnight.  The  quiet  and  regular  household 
had  all  retired  to  bed,  and  Maggie  had  feverishly  begun  to 

Srepare  for  departure.  She  knew  how  to  let  herself  out. 
nee  out  of  the  house,  she  would  be,  so  she  felt,  through 
the  worst  part  of  her  trouble.  She  was  not  unacquainted 
with  the  ways  of  this  cruel  world,  and  thought  that  she  might 
be  taken  in  at  some  hotel,  not  too  far  away,  for  the  night. 
Early  in  the  morning  she  would  go  by  train  to  some  seaside 
place.  From  there  she  would  embark  for  the  Continent.  Be- 
yond that  she  had  made  no  plans. 

Maggie  was  in  the  act  of  removing  her  father's  treasures 
from  the  tin  boxes  when,  without  any  warning,  the  room-door 
was  opened,  and  Aneta,  in  her  pure  white  dress,  with  her 
golden  hair  surrounding  her  very  fair  face,  entered  the  room. 

"Oh!"  said  Maggie,  dropping  a  curiously  made  cross  in 
her  confusion  and  turning  a  dull  brick-red.  "  Whatever  have 
you  come  about?  " 

Aneta  closed  the  door  calmly,  and  placed  her  lighted  candle 
on  the  top  of  Maggie's  chest  of  drawers. 


THE   SCHOOL .  QUEENS.  159 

"  I  hoped  you  were  in  bed  and  asleep,"  she  said;  "  but  instead 
of  that  you  are  up.  I  have  made  arrangements  to  spend 
the  night  with  you.  It  is  bitterly  cold.  We  must  build  up 
the  fire." 

Maggie  felt  wild. 

Aneta  did  not  take  the  slightest  notice.    She  knelt  down 
and  put  knobs  of  fresh  coal  on  the  fire.    Soon  it  was  blazing 
up  merrily.     "That's  better,"  she  said.     "Now,  don't  you 
think  a  cup  of  cocoa  each  would  be  advisable?  " 
I  don't  want  to  eat,"  said  Maggie. 

"  I  should  like  the  cocoa,"  said  Aneta;  "  and  I  have  brought 
it  with  me.  I  thought  your  supply  might  be  out.  Here's  your 
glass  of  milk  which  you  never  drank,  and  here's  a  little  sauce- 
pan, and  there  are  cups  and  saucers  in  your  cupboard,  and 
a  box  of  biscuits.  Just  sit  down,  won't  you?  while  I  make 
the  00093." 

Maggie  felt  very  strange.  Her  dislike  of  Aneta  was  grow- 
ing less  and  less  moment  by  moment.  Nevertheless,  she  by 
no  means  gave  up  her  primary  idea  of  running  away.  She 
felt  that  she  must  hoodwink  Aneta.  Surely  she  was  clever 
enough  for  that.  The  best  plan  would  be  to  acquiesce  in  the 
cocoa  scheme,  afterwards  to  pretend  that  she  was  sleepy,  and 
go  to  bed.  Then  Aneta  would,  of  course,  leave  her,  and  there 
would  still  be  plenty  of  time  to  get  out  of  the  house  and 
disappear  into  the  foggy  world  of  London.  The  glowing  fire, 
the  beautiful  young  girl  kneeling  by  it,  the  preparation  for 
the  little  meal  which  she  made  with  such  swiftness  and  dex- 
terity, caused  Maggie  to  gaze  at  her  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment. 

Maggie  drank  her  delicious  cocoa  and  munched  her  biscuits 
with  appetite,  and  afterwards  she  felt  better.  The  world  was 
not  quite  so  black  and  desolate,  and  Aneta  looked  lovely  with 
her  soft  eyes  glowing  and  the  rose-color  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Why  are  you  doing  all  this  for  me?  "  said  Maggie  then. 

"  Why?  "  said  Aneta.  "  I  think  the  reason  is  very  simple." 
Then  she  paused  for  a  minute  and  her  eyes  filled  with  sudden 
tears.  "  I  think  it  is,  Maggie,  because  quite  unexpectedly  I 
have  learned  to  love  you." 

"You — to  love  me — me?"  said  Maggie. 

"  Yes." 

Maggie  felt  herself  trembling.  She  could  not  reply.  She 
did  not  understand  that  she  returned  the  love  so  suddenly 
given  to  her — given  to  her,  too,  in  her  moment  of  deepest  deg- 
radation, of  her  most  utter  misery.  Once  again  the  feeling 
that  she  must  go,  that  she  could  not  face  confession  and  the 
scorn  of  the  school,  and  the  awful  words  of  Bo-peep,  and 
her  poor  mother  as  Bo-peep's  wife,  overpowered  her. 

"You  are — very  kind,"  she  said  in  a  broken  voice;  "and 
the  cocoa  was  good;  and,  if  you  don't  mind — I  will — go  to 
bed  now,  and  perhaps — sleep  a  little." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  with  all  those  lovely  curios?" 
said  Aneta. 


160  THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

"  I?  "  said  Maggie.    "  I — oh,  I  like  to  look  at  them." 

"  Do  pick  up  that  cross  which  is  lying  on  the  floor,  and 
let  me  examine  it." 

Maggie  did  so  rather  unwillingly. 

"  Please  bring  over  all  the  other  things,  and  let  me  look 
at  them,"  said  Aneta  then. 

Maggie  obeyed,  but  grudgingly,  as  though  she  did  not  care  : 
that  Aneta  should  handle  them. 

"  Why  have  you  taken  them  out  of  their  boxes  and  put  ( 
them  all  in  a  muddle  like  this?"  said  Aneta. 

"  I — I  wanted  something  to  do,"  said  Maggie.  "  I  couldn't 
sleep." 

"  Was  that  the  only  reason — honor  bright?  "  said  Aneta. 

Maggie  dropped  her  eyes. 

Aneta  did  not  question  her  any  further,  but  she  drew  her 
down  to  a  low  chair  by  the  fire,  and  put  a  hand  on  her  lap, 
and  kept  on  looking  at  the  treasures :  the  bracelets,  the 
crosses,  the  brooches,  the  quaint  designs  belonging  to  a  by- 
gone period.  After  a  time  she  said,  "  I  am  not  at  all  sure — 
I  am  not  a  real  judge  of  treasures;  but  I  have  an  uncle,  Sir 
Charles  Lysle,  who  knows  more  about  these  things  than  any 
one  else  in  London;  and  if  he  thinks  what  I  am  inclined  to 
think  with  regard  to  the  contents  of  these  two  boxes,  you  will 
be  "-  -  She  stopped  abruptly. 

Maggie's  eyes  were  shining.  "Aneta,"  she  said,  "  don't  talk 
of  these  any  more;  and  don't  talk  either  of  wealth  or  poverty 
any  more.  There  is  something  I  want  to  say.  When  you 
came  into  my  room  just  now  I  was  packing  up  to  run  away." 

"  On  yes,  I  know  that,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  saw  that  you  had 
that  intention  the  moment  I  entered  the  room." 

"  And  you  said  nothing!  " 

"Why  should  I?  I  didn't  want  to  force  your  confidence. 
But  you're  not  going  to  run  away  now,  Mags?"  She  bent 
towards  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

"  Yes,"  said  Maggie,  trembling.  "  I  want  you  to  let  me 
go." 

"  I  cannot  possibly  do  that,  dear.    If  you  go,  I  go  too." 

"  I  must  go,"  said  Maggie.  "  You  don't  understand.  You 
found  thingj?  out  about  me  to-day,  and  you  have  behaved— 
well,  splendidly.  I  didn't  give  you  credit  for  it.  I  didn't  know 
you.  Now  I  do  know  you,  and  I  see  that  no  girl  in  the  school 
can  be  compared  to  you  for  nobleness  and  courage,  and  just 
for  being  downright  splendid.  But,  Aneta,  I  cannot  bear  that 
which  is  before  me." 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Aneta,  "  you  are  in  the  midst  of  a  terrible 
battle,  and  you  mean  to  give  in  and  turn  tail,  and  let  the  enemy 
walk  over  the  field.  That  is  not  a  bit  what  I  should  have 
expected  at  one  time  from  Maggie  Rowland." 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  Maggie.  "I  am  not  really  a  bit 
brave;  there  is  nothing  good  in  me." 

"  We  won't  talk  about  that,"  said  Aneta.  "  What  we  have 
to  think  about  now  is  what  lies  straight  ahead  of  you;  not 


THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS.  161 

of  your  past  any  more,  but  your  immediate  future.  You  have 
a  tough  time  before  you;  in  fact,  you  have  a  very  great  battle 
to  light,  but  I  do  not  think  you  will  turn  tail." 

"  You  want  me,"  said  Maggie,  "  to  go  to  Mrs.  Ward  and  tell 
her  everything?  " 

"  You  must  do  thai,  Maggie.  There  is  no  second  course  to 
pursue.  There  is  no  way  out.  But  I  have  been  thinking  since 
I  saw  you  that  perhaps  you  might  have  your  day  on  Saturday. 
I  think  it  would  be  best  for  you  to  tell  Mrs.  Ward  to-morrow; 
and  I  think  she  would  not  prevent  you  having  your  day  on 
Saturday.  Perhaps  it  will  be  necessary — but  she  is  the  one 
to  decide — that  some  of  your  schoolfellows  should  be  told; 
and  of  course  your  little  brooch  which  you  sold  to  Pearee 
must  be  got  back.  Even  Pearce  is  far  too  honest  to  keep  it 
for  the  price  he  paid  you." 

"  He  gave  me  five  pounds,  and  I  have  spent  one.  There 
are  still  four  pounds  left,"  said  Maggie.  "  I  meant  to  run 
away  with  the  help  of  these." 

"  I  will  lend  you  a  pound,"  said  Aneta,  "  and  we'll  get  the 
brooch  back  to-morrow." 

"  But,  Aneta,  I  have  not  yet  told  you — it  is  too  fearful — • 
you  cannot  conceive  what  my  stepfather  is  like.  It  isn't  only 
his  being  a  grocer — for  I  have  no  doubt  there  are  lots  of 
grocers  who  are  quite,  quite  tolerable;  but  you  cannot  imagine 
what  he  is.  I  had  a  letter  from  him  a  little  time  ago — that 
time,  you  remember,  when  he  sent  me  those  perfectly  awful 
dresses — and  he  said  then  that  he  and  my  mother  were  com- 
ing to  see  me,  as  he  wanted  to  interview  Mrs.  Ward  and  to 
look  at  the  school  for  himself.  Well,  that  poor  Tildy  brought 
me  a  letter  to-day  from  mother.  I  had  written  to  mother 
to  beg  of  her  not  to  let  him  come;  but  he  got  hold  of  the  letter, 
and  he  was  nearly  mad  about  it.  The  end  of  it  is  that  he 
and  she  are  coming  on  Saturday,  and,  somehow,  I  can't  bear 
it.  I  must  run  away;  I  cannot  endure  it!  " 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  said  Aneta.  "  Let  me  think.  Lay  your 
head  on  my  shoulder,  Maggie.  Oh,  how  tired  you  are! " 

"  Aneta,  you  seem  to  me  quite  new — just  as  though  I  had 
never  seen  you  before." 

"  I  think  you  and  your  story  have  opened  my  eyes  and  done 
me  good,"  said  Aneta.  "  Then  what  you  said  about  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  poor — I  mean  your  sort  of  poor — gave  me  great 
pain.  Will  you  take  off  your  things  and  lie  down,  and  let 
me  lie  by  your  side?  Do,  Maggie  darling!" 

Maggie  darling!  Such  words  to  come  from  Aneta  bysle's 
lips!  Maggie  felt  subjugated.  She  allowed  her  rival  queen 
to  undress  her.  and  presently  the  two  girls  were  lying  side 
by  side  in  the  little  bed.  Maggie  dropped  off  into  heavy  slum- 
ber. Aneta  lay  awake. 

It  was  early  morning  when  Aneta  touched  her  companion. 

"  Maggie,  I  have  been  thinking  hard  all  night,  and  I  am  going 
to  do  something." 

"  You!    What  can  you  do?    Oh,  I  remember  everything  now. 


162  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Oh,  the  horror!    Oh,  how  can  I  endure  it?    Why  didnH  I 
run  away?" 

"  Maggie,  you  must  promise  me  faithfully  that  you  will 
never  run  away.  Say  it  now,  this  minute.  I  believe  in  your 
word;  I  believe  in  your  fine  nature.  I  will  help  you  with  all 
my  might  and  main  through  school-life,  and  afterwards.  Give 
me  your  word  now.  You  will  stay  at  Aylmer  House?  " 
I  will  stay,"  said  poor  Maggie. 

"  I  don't  ask  any  more.  Thank  you,  dear.  Maggie,  do  noth- 
ing to-day,  but  leave  matters  in  my  hands.  You  are  not  well; 
your  head  aches,  your  forehead  is  so  hot." 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  headache,"  owned  Maggie. 

"  I  shall  be  away  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  but  I  will 
ask  Miss  Johnson  to  look  after  you.  Don't  say  anything  until 
I  return." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"  I  am  going  to  see  your  mother  and  your  stepfather." 

"Aneta!" 

"  Yes." 

"Oh  Aneta,  you  must  not  see  him!" 

"  It  is  probable  that  I  shall  seem  him,  dear;  I  am  not  easily, 
alarmed.  I  will  take  Aunt  Lucia  with  me.  I  am  going  down- 
stairs now  to  ask  Mrs.  Ward's  permission." 

"  And  you  will  say  nothing  about  me?  " 

"  Something,  but  nothing  of  your  story.  When  you  feel  well 
enough  you  can  get  up  and  go  on  with  the  preparations  for 
to-morrow.  I  believe  we  shall  have  our  happy  day." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

AT  LABURNUM   VILLA. 

ANETA  went  back  to  her  room,  where  she  dressed  with  her 
usual  expedition  and  extreme  neatness.  When  she  had  fin- 
ished her  toilet  she  ran  downstairs.  It  was  not  yet  eight 
o'clock;  but  most  of  the  girls  were  assembled  in  the  large  hall 
waiting  for  prayers,  which  always  took  place  before  break- 
fast. Mrs.  Ward  was  seen  passing  to  the  library,  where 
prayers  were  held.  Aneta  went  up  to  her. 

"  Prayers  first,  of  course,"  said  Aneta,  "  and  afterwards  may 
I  talk  to  you?" 

Mrs.  Ward  looked  at  Aneta.    "  What  is  the  matter,  dear?  " 

"  Something  very  important  indeed.    I  must  see  you." 

"Well,  breakfast  follows  prayers;  come  to  me  the  minute 
breakfast  is  over." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  Mrs.  Ward,"  said  Aneta. 

At  breakfast  Merry  asked  Aneta  how  Maggie  was.  Aneta 
said  that  Maggie  had  a  headache,  and  would  not  be  in  school 
during  the  morning. 

"  Then  what  are  we  to  do  about  our  day?  "  said  Molly  Tris- 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  163 

tram,  who  overheard  this  remark.  "  We  have  absolutely 
more  to  get  through  than  we  can  possibly  manage." 

"Oh,  to-morrow  will  be  quite  all  right,"  said  Aneta;  "and 
Maggie  will  join  you  presently." 

Aneta  was  so  respected  in  the  school,  so  little  given  to  ex- 
aggeration, so  absolutely  to  be  relied  on,  that  these  words  of 
hers  had  a  most  calming  effect.  The  girls  continued  their 
breakfast,  those  who  were  in  the  secret  of  to-morrow  oc- 
casionally alluding  to  the  subject  in  French,  which  was  the 
only  language  allowed  to  be  spoken.  The  others  talked  about 
their  different  occupations. 

As  soon  as  ever  breakfast  was  over,  Aneta  went  to  Mrs. 
Ward's  private  room. 

"  Now,  dear,  what  is  it?  "  said  the  head-mistress.  "  I  have 
to  take  the  class  for  literature  at  half-past  nine,  and  have  very 
little  time  to  spare." 

"  I  won't  keep  you,"  said  Aneta;  "  but  what  I  wanted  was 
to  beg  for  a  day's  holiday." 

"  My  dear  girl!  What  do  you  mean?  In  the  middle  of  term 
— a  day's  holiday!  Can  you  not  take  it  to-morrow? — oh, 
I  forgot,  to-morrow  Maggie  is  having  her  grand  carnival,  as 
I  call  it.  But  what  is  the  matter,  Aneta?  Have  you  any 
trouble?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Aneta;  "  and  I  cannot  tell  you,  dear  Mrs.  Ward." 

"  I  trust  you,  of  course,  Aneta." 

"I  know  you  do;  and  I  want  you  to  trust  me  more  than 
ever.  It  has  something  to  do  with  Maggie." 

Mrs.  Ward  slightly  frowned.  "  I  am  never  sure " — she 
began. 

But  Aneta  stopped  her  impulsively.  "  If  you  give  me  that 
holiday  to-day,"  she  said,  "  and  if  you  trust  me,  and  if  you 
will  also  give  me  Mrs.  Martin's  address,  which,  of  course, 
you  must  have  on  your  books  "- 

"Mrs.  Martin's  address?"  said  Mrs.  Ward. 

"  Yes.  You  know  Maggie's  mother  has  married  again;  she 
is  Mrs.  Martin." 

"Of  course,  of  course;  I  had  forgotten  for  the  moment. 
Yes,  I  have  her  address." 

"  Well,  if  you  will  do  all  that,"  continued  Aneta,  "  I  think 
that  you  will  find  a  new  Maggie  in  the  future,  one  whom  you 
— will  trust,  and — and  love,  as  I  love  her." 

"  My  dear  girl!  as  you  love  Maggie  Rowland?  " 

Aneta  lowered  her  head  for  a  minute.  "  It  is  true  I  did  not 
love  her,"  she  said,  "  in  the  past,  but  I  have  changed  my 
views.  I  have  been  narrow-minded,  and  small,  and  silly.  She 
herself  has  opened  my  eyes.  I  cannot  tell  you  more  now. 
Maggie  will  come  down,  and  will  be  able  to  go  on  with  her 
lessons  just  as  usual  this  afternoon;  but  I  want  a  day  off,  and 
I  want  it  at  once." 

"  But  where  are  you  going,  dear?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  Aunt  Lucia.  You  will  let  me  have  a  cab,  and 
I  will  drive  to  Aunt  Lucia's  house  in  Eaton  Square  at  once?  " 


164  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

Mrs.  Ward  looked  doubtful.  "  You  have  a  very  grave  reason 
for  this?"  she  said. 

"  Very,  very  grave;  and  I  will  tell  you  all  presently." 

"  I  have  never  had  reason  to  doubt  you,"  said  Mrs.  Ward, 
"and  I  won't  doubt  you  now.  Does  Maggie  know  of  this?" 

"Yes — oh  yes;  but  please  don't  question  her  until  I  re- 
turn." 

"  Very  well,  dear;  you  shall  have  your  way.  Oh,  you  want 
Mrs.  Martin's  address.  It  is  Laburnum  Villa,  Clapham." 

Aneta  entered  the  address  in  a  little  tablet  bound  in  gold 
which  she  always  wore  at  her  waist. 

"  Thank  you  ever  so  much,"  she  said,  and  then  left  the 
room. 

A  minute  or  two  later  she  met  Miss  Johnson.  "  Give  me 
something  stiff  to  learn — something  that  I  don't  like — to- 
night, dear  Lucy,"  she  said.  "I  am  off  for  a  whole  day's 
holiday,  but  I  shall  be  back  in  the  evening." 

"  That  is  very  queer,"  said  Miss  Johnson.  "  What  does 
it  mean?" 

"  I  cannot  explain,  but  Mrs.  Ward  knows.  Be  specially  kind 
to  dear  Maggie,  and  give  me  something  that  I  don't  like  to 
do  when  I  return." 

Miss  Johnson  smiled.  "  You  shall  hem  some  dusters,"  she 
said. 

Aneta  made  a  wry  face.  "Thanks  ever  so  much,"  she 
replied;  then  she  ran  upstairs  to  get  ready  for  her  visit. 

Just  before  leaving  the  house  she  looked  in  at  Maggie.  "  I'm 
off,  Mags.  It's  all  right.  I  shall  probably  see  you  about  tea- 
time." 

Before  Maggie  had  time  even  to  expostulate  Aneta  closed 
the  door,  and  a  minute  or  two  later  had  stepped  into  the  cab 
which  Agnes  had  called  for  her.  The  cabman  was  desired 
to  drive  Miss  Lysle  to  Lady  Lysle's  house  in  Eaton  Square. 
This  was  accordingly  done,  and  soon  after  ten  o'clock  Lady 
Lysle,  who  had  not  yet  completed  her  morning  toilet,  was 
most  amazed  at  being  informed  by  her  maid  that  Miss  Lysle 
was  waiting  for  her  downstairs. 

"  Aneta  f    You  don't  mean  Aneta,  Purcell?" 

"Yes,  my  lady;  and  she  wants  to  see  you  in  a  very  great 
hurry." 

"  Then  send  her  up  to  me." 

Purcell  disappeared.  Lady  Lysle  wondered  what  was 
wrong.  Presently  Aneta  burst  into  the  room. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  her  aunt,  "  what  can  be  wrong?  Why 
have  you  left  school?  I  dp  hope  no  illness  has  broken  out 
there.  It  would  be  very  inconvenient  for  me  to  have  you 
here  at  present." 

"  There  is  no  illness  whatever  at  the  school,  Aunt  Lucia," 
said  Aneta,  going  up  to  her  aunt  and  kissing  her;  "  only  there 
is  a  girl  there,  one  of  my  schoolfellows,  in  a  good  bit  of 
trouble,  and  I  want  to  help  her,  and  I  have  got  a  day  off  from 
Mrs.  Ward,  who  doesn't  know  why  she  is  giving  it  to  me,  but 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  165 

trusts  me  all  the  same.  And  now,  auntie,  I  want  you  to  come 
with  me  at  once." 

"Oh  my  dear  child,  where?" 

"  To  Clapham,  auntie." 

"Clapham!  I  never  stopped  at  Clapham  in  my  life.  I  have 
driven  through  the  place,  it  is  true." 

"  Well,  we'll  stop  there  to-day,"  said  Aneta,  "  at  Laburnum 
Villa,  Clapham.  I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Martin,  Maggie's  mother." 

"  Oh,  dear  child,"  said  Lady  Lysle,  "  you  mean  Miss  How- 
land  when  you  speak  of  Maggie?  Now,  you  know  I  told  you 
that  her  stepfather  is  no  relation  whatever  to  the  Martyns 
of  The  Meadows.  I  cannot  make  out  why  she  should  have 
given  you  to  understand  that  he  was.  A  man  who  lives  at 
Clapham!  Dear  Aneta,  I  would  rather  be  excused." 

"  There  is  no  excuse,  auntie,  that  I  can  listen  to  for  a  single 
moment.  I  know  all  about  Maggie's  stepfather,  and  I  will  tell 
you  as  we  are  driving  out  to  Clapham.  You  have  always  let 
me  have  my  own  way,  and  I  have — yes,  I  have  tried  to  be  a 
good  girl;  but  there  is  something  before  me  to-day  more  im- 
portant and  more  difficult  than  I  ever  tackled  yet,  and  if  I 
can't  come  to  my  own  aunt — I,  who  am  a  motherless  girl — 
for  help  at  this  crisis  I  shall  think  the  world  is  coming  to  an 
end." 

"  What  a  strange,  earnest  way  you  do  speak  in,  Aneta! " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  darling;  but  I  assure  you  the  case  is 
most  urgent.  You  are  quite  well,  aren't  you?" 

"  Oh  yes,  my  love;  I  am  never  an  ailing  sort  of  person." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  send  Purcell  back  to  you,  and  please 
order  the  carriage,  and  please  be  as  quick  as  possible.  We 
have  to  go  somewhere  else  after  we  have  dfene  with  Mrs. 
Martin." 

"  Well,  Aneta,  I  always  was  wax  in  your  hands,  and  I  sup- 
pose I  must  do  what  you  wish.  But  remember  your  promise 
that  you  will  tell  me  the  meaning  of  this  extraordinary  thing 
during  our  drive  to  Clapham." 

"  I  promise  faithfully  to  tell  you  what  is  necessary,  for  the 
fact  is  I  want  your  help.  Darling  auntie!  you  are  doing  about 
the  best  work  of  your  life  to-day.  I  knew  you  would  stand 
by  me;  I  felt  certain  of  it,  and  I  told  Maggie  so." 

"  That  girl!  "  said  Lady  Lysle.    "  I  don't  care  for  that  girl." 

"  You  will  change  your  mind  about  her  presently,"  said 
Aneta,  and  she  ran  downstairs  to  request  Davidson,  the  butler, 
to  bring  her  something  to  eat,  for  her  breakfast  had  been 
slight,  and  she  was  quite  hungry  enough  to  enjoy  some  of  her 
aunt's  nice  food. 

By-and-by  Lady  Lysle,  looking  slim  and  beautiful,  wear- 
ing her  becoming  sables  and  her  toque  with  its  long  black 
ostrich  plume,  appeared  on  the  scene,  and  a  minute  later 
Davidson  announced  that  the  carriage  was  at  the  door. 

The  two  ladies  stepped  in,  Aneta  giving  very  careful  direc- 
tions to  the  driver. 

He  expressed  some  astonishment  at  the  address.     "  La- 


166  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

burnum  Villa,  Clapham!  "  he  said.  "  Martin,  Laburnum  Villa, 
Clapham!  Clapham's  a  big  place,  miss." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Aneta;  "but  that  is  all  the  address  I 
can  obtain.  We  must  call  at  the  post-office,  if  necessary,  to 
get  the  name  of  the  street." 

The  footman  sprang  into  his  place,  and  Aneta  and  her  aunt 
drove  off  in  the  comfortable  brougham  towards  that  suburb 
known  as  Glapham. 

"  Now,  Aneta,  I  suppose  you  will  tell  me  what  is  the  mean- 
ing of  this?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  made  a  mistake  about  Maggie, 
and  I  am  willing  to  own  it.  She  has  been  placed  in  a  difficult 
position.  I  do  not  mean  for  a  minute  to  imply  that  she  has 
acted  in  a  straight  way,  for  she  has  not.  But  there  is  that  in 
her  which  will  make  her  the  best  of  girls  in  the  future,  as 
she  is  one  of  the  cleverest  and  one  of  the  most  charming.  Yes, 
auntie,  she  has  got  a  great  power  about  her.  She  is  a  sort  of 
magnet — she  attracts  people  to  her." 

"  She  has  never  attracted  me,"  said  Lady  Lysle.  "  I  have 
always  thought  her  a  singularly  plain  girl." 

"  Ugliness  like  hers  is  really  attractive,"  said  Aneta.  "  But, 
now,  the  thing  is  this :  if  we  don't  help  her  she  will  be  abso- 
lutely lost,  all  her  chance  taken  from  her,  and  her  character 
ruined  for  ever.  We  do  a  lot  at  our  school  for  those  poor 
slum-girls,  but  we  never  do  anything  for  girls  in  our  class. 
Now,  I  mean  my  girl  in  future  to  be  Maggie  Howland." 

"  Aneta,  you  are  absurd !  " 

"I  mean  it,  auntie;  her  father's  daughter  deserves  help. 
Her  father  was  as  good  a  man  as  ever  lived,  and  for  his  sake 
something  ought  to  be  done  for  his  only  child.  As  to  her 
mother  " 

"  Yes,  the  woman  who  has  married  a  person  of  the  name  of 
Martin,  and  to  whose  house  I  presume  we  are  going  " 

"  Auntie,  I  have  rather  a  shock  to  give  you.  Poor  Maggie 
did  mean  to  imply  that  her  stepfather  was  in  a  different  class 
of  life  from  what  he  is.  He  is  a — grocer! " 

Lady  Lysle  put  up  her  hand  to  pull  the  check-string. 

"  Pray,  auntie,  don't  do  that.  Maggie  isn't  the  daughter  of 
a  grocer,  and  she  can't  help  her  mother  having  married  this 
dreadful  man.  I  want  Maggie  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  her 
stepfather  in  the  future,  and  I  mean  to  carry  out  my  ideas, 
and  you  have  got  to  help  me." 

"  Indeed,  I  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  What  a  disgraceful 
girl!  She  must  leave  Aylmer  House  at  once." 

'  Then  I  will  go  too,"  said  Aneta. 

"  Aneta,  I  never  knew  you  behave  in  such  a  way  before." 

"  Gome,  auntie  darling,  you  know  you  are  the  sweetest  and 
the  most  loving  and  sympathetic  person  in  the  world;  and 
why  should  you  turn  away  from  a  poor  little  girl  who  quite 
against  her  own  will  finds  herself  the  stepdaughter  of  a  gro- 
cer? Maggie  has  given  me  to  understand  that  he  is  a  dreadful 
man.  She  is  horrified  with  him,  and  what  I  am  going  now 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  167 

to  Laburnum  Villa  about  is  to  try  to  prevent  his  visiting  the 
school  with  his  wife  on  Saturday.  I  will  do  the  talking,  dear, 
and  you  have  only  to  sit  by  and  look  dignified." 

"  I  never  was  put  in  such  a  dreadful  position  before,"  said 
Lady  Lysle,  "  and  really  even  you,  Aneta,  go  too  far  when  you 
expect  me  to  do  this." 

"  But  you  would  visit  a  poor  woman  in  East  London  without 
the  smallest  compunction,"  said  Aneta. 

"  That  is  different,"  replied  Lady  Lysle  with  dignity. 

"It  is  different,"  replied  Aneta;  "but  the  difference  lies  in 
the  fact  that  the  grocer's  wife  is  very  much  higher  up  in  the 
social  scale  than  the  East  End  woman." 

"  Oh  my  dear  child,  this  is  really  appalling!  I  have  always 
distrusted  that  Miss  Howland.  Does  Mrs.  Ward  know  of  your 
project?  " 

"  Not  yet,  but  she  will  to-night." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  when  I  visit  this  person?  " 

"  Just  look  your  dear,  sweet,  dignified  self,  and  allow  me  to 
do  the  talking." 

"  I  think  you  have  taken  leave  of  your  senses." 

"  I  haven't  taken  leave  of  my  senses,  and  I  would  do  more 
than  I  am  now  doing  to  help  a  fine  girl  round  a  nasty  corner. 
So  cheer  up,  auntie !  After  we  have  seen  Mrs.  Martin  we  have 
to  go  on  and  visit  the  grocer." 

"  Aneta,  that  I  do  decline! " 

"  I  am  sure  you  won't  decline.  But  let  us  think  of  Mrs. 
Martin  herself  first,  and  try  to  remember  that  by  birth  she  is 
a  lady." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  carriage  drew  up  outside  a  post- 
office.  There  was  a  short  delay  while  Laburnum  Villa  was 
being  inquired  for  by  the  footman.  At  last  the  street  in  which 
this  small  suburban  dwelling  was  situated  was  discovered, 
and  a  few  minutes  later  the  carriage,  with  its  splendid  horses 
and  two  servants  on  the  box,  drew  up  before  the  green-painted 
door. 

The  villa  was  small,  but  it  was  exceedingly  neat.  The 
little  brass  knocker  shone,  even  though  yesterday  was  a  day 
of  such  fog.  The  footman  came  to  the  carriage-door  to  make 
inquiries. 

"  I  will  get  out,"  said  Aneta. 

"  Hadn't  James  best  inquire  if  the  woman  is  in?  "  said  Lady 
Lysle. 

"  No,  I  think  I  will,"  said  Aneta. 

She  went  up  the  narrow  path  and  rang  the  front-door  bell. 
Tildy  opened  the  door.  The  new  cook  had  been  peeping  above 
the  blinds  in  the  kitchen.  Tildy  had  hastily  put  on  a  white 
apron,  but  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  a  smut  was  once  more  on 
her  cheek.  Somehow,  Aneta  liked  her  all  the  better  for  that 
smut. 

"I  want  to  see  your  mistress,  Tildy,"  she  said.  "It  is 
something  about  Miss  Maggie,  and  I  am,  as  you  know,  one  of 
her  schoolfellows." 


168  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  Lor',  miss!  yes,  for  certain,  miss.  Mrs.  Martin  '11  be  that 
proud,  miss." 

"  I  have  brought  my  aunt  with  me,"  said  Aneta.  "  She 
would  like  to  come  in  too  in  order  to  see  Mrs.  Martin." 

"Yes,  miss;  in  course,  miss.  There's  no  fire  lit  in  the 
drawin'-room.  But  there's  the  dinin'-room;  it  do  smell  a  bit 
smoky,  for  master  'e  loves  'is  pipe.  'E  smokes  a  lot  in  the 
dinin'-room,  miss." 

"  Show  us  into  the  dining-room,"  said  Aneta.  She  ran  back 
to  fetch  Lady  Lysle,  and  conducted  that  amazed  and  indignant 
woman  into  the  house. 

Tildy  rushed  upstairs  to  fetch  her  mistress.  "  You  get  into 
your  best  gown  in  no  time,  mum.  There's  visitors  downstairs 
— that  most  beauteous  young  lady  who  spoke  to  me  yesterday 
at  Haylmer  House,  and  a  lady  alongside  of  'er  as  'u'd  make 
yer  'eart  quake.  Ef  Queen  Victoria  was  alive  I'd  say  yes,  it 
was  'erself.  Never  did  I  mark  such  a  sweepin'  and  'aughty 
manner.  They're  fine  folks,  both  of  'em,  and  no  mistake." 

"  Did  they  give  their  names?  "  asked  Mrs.  Martin. 

"  I  didn't  even  arsk,  mum.  They  want  to  see  you  about  our 
Miss  Maggie." 

"  Well,  I  will  go  down.  What  a  queer,  early  hour  for 
visitors!  What  dress  shall  I  wear,  Tildy?" 

"  I'd  say  the  amber  satin,  mum,  ef  I'd  a  voice  in  the  choice. 
You  look  elegant  in  it,  mum,  and  you  might  'ave  your  black 
lace  shawl." 

"  I  don't  think  I  will  wear  satin  in  the  morning,"  said  Mrs. 
Martin. 

Tildy  helped  her  into  a  dark-brown  merino  dress,  one  of 
her  extensive  trousseau.  Mrs.  Martin  then  went  downstairs, 
prepared  to  show  these  visitors  that  she  was  "  as  good  as 
them,  if  not  better."  But  the  glimpse  of  the  carriage  and 
horses  which  she  got  through  the  lobby-window  very  nearly 
bowled  her  over. 

"  Go  in,  mum,  now;  you've  kept  them  waitin'  long  enough. 
I  can  serve  up  an  elegant  lunch  if  you  want  it." 

Tildy  felt  almost  inclined  to  poke  at  her  mistress  in  order 
to  hurry  her  movements.  Mrs.  Martin  opened  the  dining- 
room  door  and  stood  just  for  a  minute  on  the  threshold.  She 
looked  at  that  moment  a  perfect  lady.  Her  gentle,  faded  face 
and  extreme  elimness  gave  her  a  grace  of  demeanor  which 
Lady  Lysle  was  quick  to  acknowledge.  She  bowed,  and  looked 
at  Aneta  to  speak  for  her. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Martin,"  said  that  young  lady.  "  I 
am  Aneta  Lysle,  one  of  your  daughter's  schoolfellows.  My 
aunt,  Lady  Lysle  " — Mrs.  Martin  bowed — "  has  kindly  come 
with  me  to  see  you.  We  want  to  have  a  little  confidential  talk 
with  you." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  said  Mrs.  Martin.  "Has  Maggie  done  any- 
thing wrong?  She  always  was  a  particularly  troublesome 
girl." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Lady  Lysle.    At  that  moment 


THE   SCHOOL   QUEENS.  169 

she  had  an  idea  of  Maggie  in  disgrace  and  banished  from 
\ylmer  House,  which  pleased  her. 

Mrs.  Martin  stopped  speaking  when  Lady  Lysle  said  this. 

"  Doubtless  you  agree  with  me,  Mrs.  Martin,"  continued  the 
lady,  "  that  your  daughter  would  do  better  at  another  school." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Mrs.  Martin;  "  we  wish  her — Bo-peep  and  I 
— I  mean  James  and  I — to  stay  where  she  is." 

"  And  so  do  I  wish  her  to  stay  where  she  is,"  said  Aneta. — 
"Auntie  darling,  you  don't  quite  understand;  but  Mrs.  Martin, 
and  I  understand. — Don't  we,  Mrs.  Martin?  " 

"  Well,  I  am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  "  I  haven't  the  faintest 
idea  what  you  are  driving  at,  Miss — Miss  Lysle." 

"  Well,  it  is  just  this,"  said  Aneta.  "  You  sent  a  letter  yes- 
terday to  Maggie." 

"  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Martin;  "  and  great  need  I  had  to  send  it." 

"  In  that  letter  you  informed  Maggie  that  you  and  your 
husband  were  coming  to  see  her  to-morrow." 

"Bo-peep  wishes — I  mean,  James  wishes — to." 

"  Really,  Aneta,  had  not  we  better  go?  "  said  Lady  Lysle. 

"  Not  yet,  auntie,  please. — Mrs.  Martin,  I  begged  for  a  holi- 
day to-day  on  purpose  to  come  and  see  you." 

"If  it's  because  you  think  I'll  keep  James — Bo-peep — I 
mean  James — from  having  his  heart's  wish,  I  am  sorry  you 
have  wasted  your  time,"  said  Mrs.  Martin.  "  The  fact  is,  he 
is  very  angry  indeed  with  Maggie.  He  considers  her  his  own 
child  now,  which  of  course  is  true,  seeing  that  he  has  married 
me,  and  I  really  can't  go  into  particulars;  but  he  is  determined 
to  see  her  and  to  see  Mrs.  Ward,  and  he's  not  a  bit  ashamed  of 
being — being — well,  what  he  is — an  honorable  tradesman — a 
grocer." 

"  But  perhaps  you  are  aware,"  said  Lady  Lysle,  "  that  the 
daughters  of  grocers — I  mean  tradesmen — are  not  admitted  to- 
Aylmer  House." 

Mrs.  Martin  turned  her  frightened  eyes  on  the  lady.  "  Mag- 
gie isn't  the  real  daughter  of  a  tradesman,"  she  said  then. 
"  She  is  only  the  stepdaughter.  Her  own  father  was  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Aneta,  "  we  all  know  what  her  own  father  was 
— a  splendid  man,  one  of  the  makers  of  our  Empire.  We  are 
all  proud  of  her  own  father,  and  we  do  not  see  for  a  moment 
why  Maggie  should  not  live  up  to  the  true  circumstances  of 
her  birth,  and  I  have  come  here  to-day,  Mrs.  Martin,  to  ask 
you  to  help  me.  If  you  and  your  husband  come  to  Aylmer 
House  there  will  be  no  help,  for  Maggie  will  certainly  have  to 
leave  the  school." 

"  Of  course,  and  the  sooner  the  better,"  said  Lady  Lysle. 

"  But  if  you  will  help  us,  and  prevent  your  husband  from 
coming  to  our  school  to-morrow,  there  is  no  reason  whatever 
why  she  shouldn't  stay  at  the  school.  Even  her  expenses  can 
be  paid  from  quite  another  source." 

Mrs.  Martin  looked  intensely  nervous.    A  bright  spot  of 
color  came  into  her  left  cheek.    Her  right  cheek  was  deadly 
pale. 
11  k 


170  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  I — I  cannot  help  it,"  she  said.  "  I  never  meant  Bo-peep 
to  go;  I  never  wished  him  to  go.  But  he  said,  '  Little-sing,  I 
will  go ' — I — I  forgot  myself — of  course  you  don't  under- 
stand. He  is  a  very  good  husband  to  me,  but  he  and  Maggie 
never  get  on." 

u  I  am  sure  they  don't,"  said  Aneta  with  fervor. 

"  Never,"  continued  Mrs.  Martin.  "  I  got  on  with  her  only 
with  difficulty  before  I  married  my  present  dear  husband.  I 
am  not  at  all  ashamed  of  his  being  a  grocer.  He  gives  me 
comforts,  and  is  fond  of  me,  and  I  have  a  much  better  time 
with  him  than  I  had  in  shabby,  dirty  lodgings  at  Shepherd's 
Bush.  I  don't  want  him  to  go  to  that  school  to-morrow;  but 
I  thought  it  right  to  let  Maggie  know  he  was  coming,  for,  all 
the  same,  go  he  will.  When  James  puts  his  foot  down  he  is  a 
very  determined  man." 

"  This  is  altogether  a  most  unpleasant  interview,"  said  Lady 
Lysle,  "and  I  have  only  come  here  at  my  niece's  request. — 
Perhaps,  Aneta,  we  can  go  now." 

"  Not  yet,  auntie  darling. — Mrs.  Martin,  Maggie  and  I  had  a 
long  talk  yesterday,  and  will  you  put  this  matter  into  my 
hands?" 

"Good  heavens!  what  next?"  murmured  Lady  Lysle  to 
herself. 

"  Will  you  give  ma  your  husband's  address,  and  may  I  go 
to  see  him?" 

"You  mean  the — the — shop?"  said  Mrs.  Martin. 

"  I  don't  go  into  that  shop!  *  said  Lady  Lysle. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  the  shop,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  want  to  go  and  see 
him  there." 

"  Oh,  he  will  be  so  angry,  and  I  am  really  terrified  of  him 
when  he  is  angry." 

"  But  think  how  much  more  angry  he  will  be  if  you  don't 
give  me  that  address,  and  things  happen  to-morrow  which 
you  little  expect.  Oh !  please  trust  me." 

Aneta  said  a  few  more  words,  and  in  the  end  she  was  in 
possession  of  that  address  at  Shepherd's  Bush  where  Martin 
the  grocer's  flourishing  shop  was  to  be  found. 

"  Thank  you  so  very  much,  Mrs.  Martin.  I  don't  think  you 
•will  ever  regret  this,"  said  the  girl. 

Lady  Lysle  bowed  to  the  wife  of  the  grocer  as  she  went  out, 
l)ut  Aneta  took  her  hand. 

"  Perhaps  you  never  quite  understood  Maggie,"  she  said; 
"  and  perhaps,  in  the  future,  you  won't  have  a  great  deal  to 
say  to  her." 

"I  don't  want  to;  she  never  suited  me  a  bit,"  said  the 
mother,  "  and  I  am  very  happy  with  Bo-peep." 

"  Well,  at  least  you  may  feel,"  said  Aneta,  "  that  I  am  going 
to  be  Maggie's  special  friend." 

Mrs.  Martin  stood  silent  while  Lady  Lysle  and  her  niece 
walked  down  the  little  path  and  got  into  the  carriage.  When 
the  carriage  rolled  away  she  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  She 
did  not  know  whether  she  was  glad  or  sorry;  but,  somehow, 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  171 

she  had  faith  in  Aneta.  Was  she  never  going  to  see  Maggie 
again?  She  was  not  quite  without  maternal  love  for  her  only 
child,  but  she  cared  very  much  more  for  Bo-peep,  and  quite 
felt  that  Maggie  would  be  a  most  troublesome  inmate  of 
Laburnum  Villa. 

"  Now,  Aneta,"  said  her  aunt  as  the  carriage  rolled  away, 
"  I  have  gone  through  enough  in  your  service  for  one  day." 

"You  haven't  been  at  all  nice,  auntie,"  said  Aneta;  "but 
perhaps  you  will  be  better  when  you  get  to  the  shop." 

"  I  will  not  go  to  the  shop." 

"Auntie,  just  think,  once  and  for  all,  that  you  are  doing 
a  very  philanthropic  act,  and  that  you  are  helping  me,  whom 
you  love  so  dearly." 

"  Of  course  I  love  you,  Aneta.  Are  you  not  as  my  own 
precious  child?" 

"  Well,  now,  I  want  you  to  buy  no  end  of  things  at  Martin's 
shop." 

"  Buy  things!  Good  gracious,  child,  at  a  grocer's  shop!  But 
I  get  all  my  groceries  at  the  Stores,  and  the  housekeeper 
attends  to  my  orders." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  spend  from  five  to  ten  pounds  at  Martin's 
to-day.  You  can  get  tea  made  up  in  half-pound  packets  and 
give  it  away  wholesale  to  your  poor  women.  Christmas  is 
coming  on,  and  they  will  appreciate  good  tea,  no  matter  where 
it  has  been  bought  from." 

"  Well,  you  may  go  in  and  give  the  order,"  said  Lady  Lysle; 
"  but  I  won't  see  that  grocer.  I  will  .sit  in  the  carriage  and 
wait  for  you." 

Aneta  considered  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  said  in  a  sad 
voice,  "  Very  well." 

Lady  Lysle  looked  at  her  once  or  twice  during  the  long 
drive  which  followed.  Aneta's  little  face  was  rather  pale,  but 
her  eyes  were  full  of  subdued  fire.  She  was  determined 
to  carry  the  day  at  any  cost. 


CHAPTER   XXIY. 

A  VISIT  TO  THE  GROCER. 

JAMES  MARTIN  abhorred  the  aristocracy — so  he  said.  Never- 
theless, he  greatly  admired  his  elegant  wife  in  her  faded 
beauty.  He  liked  to  hear  her  speak,  and  he  made  some  effort 
to  copy  her  "  genteel  pronunciation."  He  also,  in  his  inmost 
heart,  admired  Maggie  as  a  girl  of  spirit,  although  not  a  beau- 
tiful one.  He  had  his  own  ideas  with  regard  to  female  loveli- 
ness, and,  like  all  men,  was  impressed  and  attracted  by  it. 

On  this  special  foggy  day,  as  he  was  standing  behind  his 
counter  busily  engaged  attending  to  a  customer  who  was 
only  requiring  a  small  order  to  be  made  up,  he  gave  a  visible 
start,  raised  his  eyes,  dropped  his  account-book,  let  his  pencil 


172  THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS. 

roll  on  to  the  floor,  and  stared  straight  before  him.  For 
somebody  was  ernning  into  the  shop — somebody  so  very  beau- 
tiful that  his  eyes  were  dazzled  and,  as  he  said  afterwards, 
his  heart  melted  within  him.  A  radiant-looking  girl,  with 
wonderful  blue  eyes  and  hair  of  the  color  of  pure  gold,  a  girl 
with  a  refined  face — most  beautifully  dressed — although  Mar- 
tin could  not  quite  make  out  in  what  fashion  she  was  ap- 
parelled— came  quickly  up  to  the  counter  and  then  stood  still, 
waiting  for  some  one  to  attend  to  her.  The  other  men  in  the 
shop  also  saw  this  lovely  vision,  and  an  attendant  of  the 
name  of  Turtle  sprang  forward  to  ask  what  he  could  do. 

"  I  want,  to  see  Mr.  Martin,"  said  the  silvery  voice. 

Martin  felt  pleased,  and  said  sotto  voce,  "  Chuck  it,  Turtle; 
you're  out  of  it,  old  boy."  A  minute  later  he  was  standing  be- 
fore Aneta,  inquiring  in  a  trembling  voice  what  he  could  do 
for  her. 

"  I  want  to  order  fifty  pounds  of  tea  to  be  made  up  in  half- 
pound  packets  and  sent  to  my  aunt,  Lady  Lysle,  16e  Eaton 
Square,"  said  Aneta.  "  The  tea  will  be  paid  for  on  delivery, 
and  please  let  it  be  the  very  best.  I  also  want  a  hundred 
pound-packets  of  the  best  currants,  and  a  hundred  pound- 
packets  of  the  best  sugar." 

"  Demerara,  miss,  or  loaf?  "  inquired  Martin,  tremblingly 
putting  down  the  order. 

"  Loaf,  I  think,"  said  Aneta.  "  Will  you  kindly  send  every- 
thing within  the  next  day  or  two  to  Eaton  Square,  i6s,  to 
Lady  Lysle?" 

"I  will  enter  her  ladyship's  name  in  my  book.  Yes,  it 
shall  be  done,"  said  Martin. 

He  looked  at  Aneta,  and  Aneta  looked  straight  back  at  him. 

"  Mr.  Martin,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  I  am  the  school-friend 
of  your  stepdaughter,  Maggie  Rowland.  May  I  have  a  little 
conversation  with  you  in  your  private  room?  " 

"  Ah,  I  thought  there  was  something!  "  said  Martin.  "  To 
be  sure,  miss,"  he  added. — "  Turtle,  you  see  that  this  order 
is  ^executed.  It's  for  her  ladyship,  Lady  Lysle,  16B  Eaton 
Square. — Come  this  way,  my  lady." 

"  I  am  only  Miss  Lysle,"  said  Aneta. 

All  the  attendants  in  the  shop  gazed  in  wonder  as  the  beau- 
tiful girl  and  the  excited  Martin  went  into  the  little  parlor 
at  the  back  of  the  business  establishment.  There  Martin 
stood  with  his  hands  behind  him;  but  Aneta  sank  into  a  low 
chair. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  great  favor,  Mr.  Martin,"  .said  the 
girl.  She  looked  full  up  at  him  as  she  spoke. 

Martin  thought  that  he  had  never  in  his  life  seen  such  melt- 
ing and  lovely  blue  eyes  before.  "  She  bowls  me  over,"  he 
kept  saying  to  himself.  "  I  hate  the  aristocrats,  but  some- 
how she  bowls  me  over." — "  Anything  in  my  power,  miss," 
he  said  aloud,  and  he  made  a  low  bow,  pressing  his  hand  to 
hi s  chest. 

"  I  think,"  said  Aneta — "  indeed,  I  am  sure — to  judge  from 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  173 

your  most  flourishing  shop — that  you  are  a  good  business 
man." 

"Well,  now,  there's  no  doubt  on  that  point,  Miss — Miss 
Lysle." 

"But  you  would  like  to  extend  your  custom?"  said  Aneta. 

"  Business  is  always  business  to  me,"  replied  Martin. 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,  it  lies  in  my  power  to  induce  my  aunt, 
Lady  Lysle,  to  get  her  groceries  from  you.  She  has  a  large 
establishment  and  sees  a  great  deal  of  company.  She  gets 
them  now  at  the  Army  and  Navy  Stores,  but  I  haven't  the 
slightest  doubt  that  she  would  not  object  to  have  them  from 
you." 

"  You  are  exceedingly  good,  Miss  Lysle,  and  I  am  sure  any- 
thing that  her  ladyship  ordered  should  have  my  very  best 
attention;  in  fact,  I  should  make  it  my  business  to  get  in 
specially  good  things  for  her.  If  I  might  let  you  into  a  busi- 
ness secret,  miss,  the  people  round  here  don't  want  the  very 
best  things;  they  don't,  so  to  speak,  appreciate  them." 

"  I  quite  understand  that,"  said  Aneta.  "  Of  course  Lady 
Lysle  would  require  the  very  best." 

"  She  should  have  the  best,  miss;  I'd  be  proud  of  her  cus- 
tom. Things  should  be  punctually  delivered;  just  an  order 
overnight,  and  my  cart  would  convey  them  to  her  ladyship's 
door  at  an  early  hour  on  the  following  day." 

"  Yes,  it  could  be  arranged,"  said  Aneta. 

"  Then,  perhaps,  miss,"  said  Mr.  Martin,  who  saw  brilliant 
prospects  opening  before  him,  and  the  possibility  of  a  West 
End  shop,  a  genuine  West  End  shop,  being  his,  as  well  as  the 
profitable  establishment  at  Shepherd's  Bush,  "  her  ladyship 
might  be  so  kind  as  to  recommend  me  to  others." 

"It  is  possible,"  said  Aneta  coldly;  "but  of  course  I  can 
only  speak  for  my  aunt  herself."  Then  she  added,  "  And  even 
for  her  I  cannot  quite  speak,  although  I  believe  the  matter 
can  be  arranged.  I  have  given  you  a  large  order  to-day." 

"  You  have,  Miss  Lysle,  and  most  faithfully  will  it  be  at- 
tended to." 

Martin  took  out  his  red  silk  handkerchief  and  mopped  his 
forehead. 

"Now,"  said  Aneta  gently,  "I  haven't  come  here  all  the 
way  from  Aylmer  House,  and  practically  given  up  a  day  of 
my  school-life,  for  nothing.  I  have  come  on  behalf  of  an- 
other." 

"Ho,  ho!"  said  Martin,  "so  the  cat's  going  to  be  let  out 
of  the  bag." 

Aneta  colored. 

Martin  saw  he  had  gone  too  far,  and  immediately  apologized. 
"  You  will  forgive  my  coarse  way  of  expressing  myself, 
miss.  I  know  it  isn't  done  in  your  circle." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  will  come  to  the  point 
at  once.  I  am  interested  in  Miss  Rowland." 

"Ah!  my  little  stepdaughter.  I  keep  her  at  a  fine,  smart 
school,  don't  I?  I  do  the  knowing  by  her,  don't  I?  " 


174  THE   SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

"  Well,  all  I  want  you  to  do  in  future — and  I  believe  her 
mother  will  consent,  for  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Martin  this  morn- 
ing " 

"  You  went  to  Laburnum  Villa  this  morning?  Tasty  place, 
that,  eh?" 

"  Yes,  a  very  comfortable  sort  of  house.  My  aunt,  Lady 
Lysle,  and  I  went  together." 

"  Her  ladyship  and  you?  " 

"We  drove  there." 

"  I  hope  the  neighbors  saw,"  said  Martin.  "  They'll  come 
in  shoals  to  see  Little-sing  after  they've  peeped  at  her  lady- 
ship's carriage." 

Aneta  could  scarcely  keep  back  a  smile. 

"  Mr.  Martin,"  she  said,  "  if  I  do  what  I  intend  for  you — and 
it  lies  in  my  power — will  you  please  not  come  to  Aylmer 
House  to-morrow?  " 

"Ho,  hi!    And  why  not?    Ashamed  of  me,  eh?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Aneta.  "  I  am  not  ashamed  of  you  in  your 
walk  in  life;  but  I  think  it  would  be  best  for  Maggie  if  you 
'did  not  come;  therefore  I  ask  you  not  to  do  so." 

"But  the  girl's  my  girl." 

"  No,  she  is  her  mother's  daughter;  and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
we  all  want — I  mean,  my  aunt  and  I,  and  others — to  have 
her  to  ourselves,  at  least  until  she  is  educated." 

"  But,  come  now,  miss,  that's  all  very  fine.  Who  pays  for 
her  education?" 

"  Her  father's  money." 

"  So  she  let  that  out?  "  said  Martin. 

"  I  know  about  it,"  said  Aneta.  "  That  is  sufficient.  Now, 
Mr.  Martin,  I  ask  you  to  become  grocer  to  my  aunt,  Lady  Lysle, 
of  Eaton  Square,  and  to  any  friends  who  she  may  recom- 
mend, on  the  sole  condition  that  you  do  not  come  to  Aylmer 
House,  and  that  you  allow  Maggie  Howland  to  spend  the  holi- 
days with  us." 

"  Oh,  my  word,  I  am  sure  I  don't  care,"  said  Martin. 

"You  promise,  then?" 

"  Yes,  I  promise  fast  enough.    If  you're  going  to  take  Mag- 

fie  and  bring  her  up  a  fine  lady  she'll  never  suit  me.  All 
beg  is  that  she  doesn't  come  back  to  me  like  a  bad  penny 
some  day." 

"  That  I  can  absolutely  assure  you  she  will  never  do.  I  am 
exceedingly  obliged  to  you.  Will  you  come  with  me  now 
and  let  me  say  a  few  W9rds  to  my  aunt;  for  as  you  havet 
made  your  definite  promise  to  leave  Maggie  alone,  my  aunt 
must  make  a  definite  promise  to  you." 

Lady  Lysle  was  much  astonished,  as  she  sat  wearily  in  her 
•carriage,  when  a  red-faced,  bald-looking,  stout  grocer  accom- 
panied her  elegant  young  niece  to  the  carriage-door. 

"  Aunt  Lucia,"  said  Aneta,  "  this  is  Mr.  Martin." 

Lady  Lysle  gave  the  faintest  inclination  of  her  head. 

"  Proud  to  see  your  ladyship,"  said  Martin. 

"  I  have  been  making  arrangements  with  Mr.  Martin,"  said 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  175 

Aneta,  "  and  on  certain  conditions  he  will  do  what  I  want. 
Will  you  please,  in  future,  get  your  groceries  from  him?  " 

"  I  will  faithfully  attend  to  you,  my  lady,  if  agreeable  to 
you.  I  will  come  weekly  for  Aorders.  I  will  do  anything  to 
oblige  your  ladyship." 

'  Please,  auntie,  you've  got  to  do  it,"  said  Aneta. 

"  My  dear,  it  depends  on  Watson,  my  housekeeper." 

"  Oh,  I'll  manage  Watson,"  said  Aneta,  springing  lightly 
into  the  carriage,  her  face  all  beams  and  smiles. — "  It  is  quite 
right,  Mr.  Martin;  and  you  will  get  your  second  order  this 
evening.  You  won't  forget  about  the  tea  and  currants  and 
sugar  for  the  poor  people. — Now,  auntie,  will  you  drive  me 
back  to  Aylmer  House,  or  shall  we  go  straight  to  Eaton 
Square? " 

"  Eaton  Square,  I  think." 

"  Good-day,  Mr.  Martin." 

The  carriage  rolled  out  of  sight.  Martin  stood  bareheaded 
in  the  doorway  of  his  shop.  There  was  not  a  prouder  man 
than  he  in  the  whole  of  Christendom.  When  he  returned  to 
the  sacred  precincts  of  the  shop  itself  he  said  to  Turtle, 
"Fresh  customer,  Turtle — West  End,  Turtle.  That's  a  fine 
young  lady — eh,  Turtle?" 

The  most  beautiful  young  female  I  ever  saw,"  returned 
Turtle. 

"  When  I  ask  you  what  you  think  of  her  personal  appear- 
ance you  can  tell  me,  Turtle.  Now,  go  and  attend  to  the  shop." 

Meanwhile  Aneta,  her  heart  full  of  thankfulness,  accom- 
panied her  aunt  to  Eaton  Square. 

"  I  have  got  what  I  want,"  she  said,  "  and  dear  Maggie  is 
practically  saved;  and  you  have  done  it,  auntie.  You  will 
feel  happier  for  this  to  your  dying  day." 

Lady  Lysle  said  that  at  the  present  moment  she  did  not 
feel  specially  elated  at  the  thought  of  getting  her  tea  and 
numerous  groceries  at  a  shop  in  Shepherd's  Bush;  but  Aneta 
assured  her  that  that  was  a  very  tiny  sacrifice  to  make  for 
so  great  an  end  as  she  had  in  view. 

"  It  will  help  Mr.  Martin,"  she  said.  "  He  is  not  a  gentle- 
man, and  doesn't  pretend  to  be,  but  he's  a  good,  honest  trades- 
man; and  perhaps  Mrs.  Ward,  too,  will  give  him  some  of  her 
custom." 

"  Well,  my  dear  Aneta,  if  you're  happy,  I  have  nothing  to 
say,"  responded  her  aunt.  "  But  you  must  tackle  Watson,  for 
I  really  cannot  attempt  it." 

Aneta  did  tackle  the  old  housekeeper  to  some  purpose.  At 
first  there  were  objections,  protests,  exclamations;  but  Aneta 
was  sure  of  her  ground.  Did  not  Mrs.  Watson  idolize  the  girl, 
having  known  her  from  her  earliest  days? 

About  tea-time  a  tired  and  triumphant  girl  returned  to 
Aylmer  House.  She  had  had  her  way.  The  great  difficulty 
was  overcome.  Maggie,  looking  pale  and  tired,  was  having 
tea  with  the  others.  Aneta  sat  down  by  her  side.  Maggie 
turned  anxious  eyes  towards  the  queen  of  the  school  whom 


176  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

she  used  to  fear  and  almost  hate.  But  there  was  no  hatred 
now  in  Maggie's  eyes.  Far,  far  from  that,  she  looked  upon 
Aneta  as  a  refuge  in  the  storm.  If  Aneta  could  not  get  her 
out  of  her  present  trouble  no  one  could. 

"  You  will  be  very  busy  during  the  leisure  hours  this  after- 
noon," said  Aneta  when  the  meal  was  coming  to  an  end.  "  But, 
first  of  all,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  just  for  a  minute  or  two." 

"  Yes,"  said  Maggie. 

"  We  have  done  tea  now.  May  Maggie  and  I  go  away  by  our- 
selves, please,  Miss  Johnson,  for  a  few  minutes?"  said  Aneta. 

Miss  Johnson  signified  her  consent,  and  the  two  queens 
Jeft  the  room  together.  The  other  girls  looked  after  them, 
wondering  vaguely  what  was  up. 

"  Maggie,"  said  Aneta,  "  I  have  managed  everything." 

"  Aneta — you  haven't " 

"Yes;  he  isn't  coming  to-morrow,  nor  is  your  mother;  and 
Aunt  Lucia  has  invited  you  to  spend  the  Christmas  holidays 
with  us.  You  can  see  your  mother  occasionally;  but,  somehow 
or  other,  Maggie  dear,  you  are  to  be  my  friend  in  future; 
and — oh,  Maggie!" 

"Oh  Aneta!  how  can  I  ever,  ever  thank  you?" 

"  Well,  the  beginning  of  the  way  is  a  little  hard,"  said 
Aneta.  "  Come  now,  at  once,  straight  to  Mrs.  Ward,  and  tell 
her  every  single  thing." 

"  She  will  expel  me  if  I  do,"  said  Maggie. 

"  That  I  know  she  will  not.  She  is  too  true  and  dear  and 
kind.  Besides,  I  will  stay  with  you  all  the  time  while  you 
are  telling  her.  Come,  quick.  You  can  get  your  confession 
over  in  a  very  few  minutes." 

"  Oh  Aneta!  for  you  I  would  do  anything.  But  how  did  you 
manage  to  get  my  dreadful  stepfather  to  give  up  his  plan." 

"  That  matters  little.  He  has  given  it  up.  Now,  come. 
There's  much  to  do  to  prepare  for  to-morrow;  but  you  must 
get  your  confession  over  first." 

Mrs.  Ward  always  had  her  tea  alone,  and  she  was  just  fin- 
ishing it  on  this  special  evening  when  there  came  a  tap  at 
her  door,  and,  to  her  great  amazement,  Aneta  and  Maggie 
-entered,  holding  each  other's  hands. 

"  Mrs.  Ward,   Maggie  has  something  to  say  to  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Maggie;  and  then  in  a  few  broken  words,  choked 
by  tears  of  true  repentance,  she  told  her  story.  She  had  been 
ashamed  of  her  stepfather.  She  had  been  deceitful.  She 
had  been  afraid  to  confess  that  she  was  taken  at  a  lower  fee 
than  the  other  girls  at  the  school.  She  had  gone  out,  without 
leave,  to  sell  one  of  her  own  father's  treasures.  Everything 
was  told.  Mrs.  Ward  looked  very  grave  as  the  girl,  with  bent 
head,  related  the  story  of  her  deceit  and  wrong-doing. 

"  I  know  you  can  expel  me,"  said  Maggie. 

"  But  you  will  not,"  said  Aneta.  'UI  feel  sure  of  that,  for  I, 
who  never  cared  for  Maggie  until  now, .love  her  with  all  my 
heart.  There  will  be  no  rivalry  in  the  school  any  more,  and 
dear  Maggie  must  not  go." 


THE    SCHOOL   QUEENS.  177 

"  Oh,  if  you  would  keep  me!  If  you  would  keep  me,"  said 
Maggie,  "  and  give  me  one  more  chance!  " 

"Have  you  asked  God  to  forgive  you,  Maggie?"  said  Mrs. 
Ward. 

"  I  cannot,  somehow;  my  heart  is  so  cold.  But  if — if  you 
would  " 

"  We  will  ask  Him  together,"  said  Mrs.  Ward. 

There  and  then  she  knelt  down,  and  Aneta  and  Maggie  knelt 
at  each  side  of  her,  and  she  said  a  few  words  of  prayer  which 
touched  Maggie's  heart  as  no  words  had  ever  touched  it 
before.  "  Keep  from  her  all  hurtful  things,  and  give  her  those 
things  which  are  necessary  for  her  salvation,"  pleaded  the 
mistress. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Ward's  hand  was  taken  by  Maggie  and  cov- 
ered with  kisses.  "Oh.  I  will  try!"  she  said;  "I  will  try 
hard  to  be  really  good !  And,"  she  added,  "  I  will  take  any  pun- 
ishment you  give  me." 

Mrs.  Ward  looked  at  her  with  sparkling  eyes.  She  was 
a  very  keen  observer  of  character.  She  put  her  hand  under 
the  girl's  chin  and  looked  into  her  downcast  face. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  full  and  absolute  forgiveness  means 
the  doing  away  with  punishment.  You  have  suffered  sorely: 
I  will  not  add  to  your  suffering  in  any  way.  Now,  go  ana 
prepare  for  to-morrow's  entertainment. — Aneta,  you  will  stay 
with  me  for  a  few  minutes." 

Maggie  left  the  room,  but  in  a  short  time  she  returned. 
She  carried  in  her  arms  the  two  tin  boxes  which  contained 
her  father's  treasures. 

"  I  want  you  to  keep  these  for  me,  or  to  sell  them,  or  to  do 
what  you  like  with  them,"  said  Maggie.  She  then  imme- 
diately left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Ward  and  Aneta  bent  over  the  treasures.  Mrs.  Ward 
gave  a  start  of  great  surprise  when  she  saw  them. 

"  Why,  these,"  she  said,  "  are  a  fortune  in  themselves." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Aneta,  her  eyes  sparkling.  "  I  felt  sure 
of  it.  We  must  get  that  brooch  back  from  Pearce." 

"  Yes,  Aneta;  I  will  send  Miss  Johnson  round  for  it  at  once. 
What  did  you  say  he  gave  Maggie  for  it?  " 

"  Five  pounds,  Mrs.  Ward." 

"  It  is.  very  honest  of  him  to  offer  to  restore  it  to  her.  Ring 
the  bell,  dear,  and  Lucy  Johnson  will  come." 

Miss  Johnson  was  very  much  interested  when  she  saw  the 
sparkling  treasures. 

"  Maggie's!  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  am  glad  she  has  given  them 
to  you  to  take  care  of  for  her.  I  was  always  terrified  at  her 
keeping  such  priceless  things  in  her  drawer." 

Mrs.  Ward  gave  the  girl  some  directions  and  the  necessary 
money;  she  went  off  to  fulfill  her  errand  in  considerable 
amazement.  Lucy  returned  in  less  than  half-an-hour  with 
the  lovely  little  brooch,  which  was  immediately  added  to  the 
collection. 

"  The  best  person  to  see  these,  as  you  suggested,  Aneta," 


178  THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS. 

said  Mrs.  Ward,  "  is  Sir  Charles  Lysle.  They  are  really  no 
good  to  Maggie,  but  ought  to  be  sold  f9r  their  utmost  value 
for  her  benefit.  She  has  many  fine  points,  and  considerable 
strength  of  character;  and  if  you  take  her  up,  dear,  I  feel 
certain  that  she  will  be  saved  from  all  those  things  which 
would  ruin  a  nature  like  hers." 

"  I  mean  to  take  her  up,"  said  Aneta  with  spirit. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Ward,  "  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  to- 
morrow over.  I  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  a  success.  Mean- 
while, will  you  write  a  line  to  your  uncle,  Sir  Charles,  and 
ask  him  if  he  can  call  here  to  see  these  treasures?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  write  to  him  at  once,"  said  Aneta.  "  He  spends 
most  of  his  time  at  the  British  Museum.  Couldn't  I  send 
him  a  wire,  Mrs.  Ward,  and  then  he  would  come  to-night?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  very  good  idea.    Do  so,  my  love." 

The  girls  had  a  very  spirited  rehearsal,  and  Maggie  was 
her  old  vivacious,  daring,  clever  self  once  more.  That  inward 
change  which  no  doubt  had  taken  place  brought  an  added 
charm  to  her  always  expressive  face. 

Between  seven  and  eight  that  evening  Aneta's  uncle,  Sir 
Charles,  arrived.  He  and  Mrs.  Ward  had  a  long  consultation. 
His  opinion  was  that  the  bracelets  and  other  curios  were 
worth  at  least  seven  thousand  pounds,  and  that  such  a  sum 
could  easily  be  obtained  for  them. 

"  In  fact,  I  myself  would  buy  them  for  that  figure,"  said 
Sir  Charles.  "  It  is  not  only  that  there  are  in  this  collection 
some  unique  and  valuable  stones;  but  the  history,  the  setting, 
and  the  make  of  these  ancient  relics  would  induce  the  British 
Museum  to  buy  many  of  them.  Doubtless,  however,  Miss 
Howland  will  get  the  biggest  price  of  all  for  them  if  they  are 
auctioned  at  Christie's." 

Before  she  went  to  bed  that  night  Aneta  told  Maggie  that 
she  was  by  no  means  a  penniless  girl,  and  that  if  she  would 
consent  to  having  her  father's  treasures  sold  she  would  have 
sufficient  money  to  be  well  educated,  and  have  a  nice  nest- 
egg  in  the  future  to  start  in  any  profession  she  fancied. 

"Oh  Aneta,  it  is  all  too  wonderful!"  said  poor  Maggie — 
"  to  think  of  me  as  I  am  to-night,  and  of  me  as  I  felt  last  night 
when  I  wanted  to  lose  myself  in  the  London  fog.  Aneta,  I  can 
never  love  you  enough !  " 

"  You  want  a  good  long  sleep,"  she  said.  "  Think  of  to- 
morrow and  all  the  excitement  which  lies  before  us! " 

Maggie  did  sleep  soundly  that  night,  for  she  was  quite  worn 
out,  and  when  Saturday  arrived  she  awoke  without  a  fear  and 
with  a  wonderful  lightness  of  heart.  The  day  of  the  festival 
and  rejoicing  passed  without  a  hitch.  The  supper  was  de- 
lightful. The  tableaux  vivants  were  the  best  the  school  had 
ever  seen.  The  games,  the  fun,  made  the  Cardews  at  least 
think  that  they  had  entered  into  a  new  world. 

But  perhaps  the  best  scene  of  all  came  at  the  end  when 
Aneta  went  up  to  Maggie  and  took  her  hand,  and,  still  holding 
it,  turned  and  faced  the  assembled  school. 


THE    SCHOOL    QUEENS.  179 

"  Maggie  and  I  don't  mean  to  be  rival  queens  any  longer," 
she  said.  "We  are  joint-queens.  All  Maggie's  subjects  are 
my  subjects  and  all  my  subjects  are  Maggie's.  Any  girl  who 
disapproves  of  this,  will  she  hold  down  her  hand?  Any  girl 
who  approves,  will  she  hold  her  hand  up  in  the  air?" 

Instantly  all  the  pairs  of  hands  were  raised,  and  there  was 
such  a  clapping  and  so  many  cheers  for  the  queens  who  were 
no  longer  rival  queens  that  mademoiselle  was  heard  to  ex- 
claim, "  But  it  is  charming.  It  makes  the  heart  to  bound.  I  do 
love  the  English  manner,  and  Mademoiselle  Aneta,  si  jolie,  si 


elegante;  and  Mademoiselle  Maggie,  who  has  a  large  charm. 

queens.     I 
she  continued,  turning  and  clasping  Miss  Johnson's  hands,  "be 


I  do  make  homage  to  them  as  the  two  queens.     I  would,' 
she  continued,  turning  and  clasping  Miss  Johns 
a  schoolgirl  myself  to  be  a  subject  of  them." 


A  few  words  will  suffice  to  end  this  story.  Lady  Lysle 
might  be  proud  and  perhaps  somewhat  disdainful,  but  she 
was  at  least  as  good  as  her  word,  and  in  a  very  short  time 
Martin  the  grocer  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  open  a  very 
smart-looking  shop  in  the  West  End.  This  shop  Lady  Lysle 
took  a  curious  interest  in  and  recommended  to  her  friends, 
so  that  Martin  began  to  do  as  sound  a  business  in  the  neigh- 
borhopd  of  Eaton  Square  as  he  did  in  Shepherd's  Bush.  Of 
all  things  in  the  world,  he  liked  best  to  make  money,  and 
he  was  quite  glad  to  be  rid  of  Maggie  when  his  own  prospects 
became  golden  owing  to  her  absence  from  his  premises. 

As  to  Mrs.  Martin,  she  was  content  to  see  her  daughter  oc- 
casionally. 

Maggie's  curios  were  all  sold,  except  the  little  brooch 
(which  she  kept  for  herself  in  memory  of  her  father),  for  a 
sufficiently  large  sum  to  pay  for  her  education  and  to  leave  her 
enough  money  to  do  well  for  herself  by-and-by.  Having  no 
longer  anything  to  conceal,  and  under  the  beautiful,  brave 
influence  of  Aneta,  she  became  quite  a  different  girl.  That 
strength  of  character  and  that  strange  fascination  which  were 
her  special  powers  were  now  turned  into  useful  channels. 
Maggie  could  never  be  beautiful,  but  her  talents  were  above 
the  average,  and  her  moral  nature  now  received  every  stim- 
ulus in  the  right  direction.  Merry  Gardew  could  love  her, 
and  gain  good,  not  harm,  from  her  influence.  But,  strange  to 
say — although  perhaps  not  strange — Aneta  was  her  special 
friend.  It  was  with  Aneta  that  Maggie  mostly  spent  her  holi- 
days. It  was  Aneta's  least  word  that  Maggie  obeyed.  It  was 
for  Aneta's  approval  that  Maggie  lived. 

Queens  of  the  school  they  still  remain,  each  exercising  her 
influence  in  her  own  way,  and  yet  both  working  in  perfect 
harmony. 

"  Have  they  not  both  the  characters  beautiful? "  said 
mademoiselle.  "  I  think  there  is  no  girl  like  the  English  girl." 

Doubtless  she  is  right. 

(2) 

THE    END. 


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SECTION 
1.  Aikenside     

e  ready  to  deliver 
ONE 
By  Mary  J.  Holmes 
"  Mary  J.  Holmes 
"  Mary  J.  Holmes 
-  Augusta  J.  Evans 
"  Augusta  J.  Evans 
"  May  Agnes  Fleming 
May  Agnes  Fleming 
M  Charles  Garvice 
**  Charles  Garvlce 
**  Dora  Delmar 
"  Bertha  M.  Clay 
M  T.  8.  Arthur 

TWO 
By  A.  D.  T.  Whitney 
A  Rudyard  Kipling 
"  Rudyard  Kipling 
"L.T;Meade 
"  Mayne  Reid 
"  R.  H.  Dana 
\[  Charles  Dickens 

"  E.  D.  E.  N.  Sonthworth 
"4  E.tD.  E.4N.  Soutoworth 

2.  Dora  Deane  
3   Lena  Rivers 

4.  Beulah     
6  Inez         .     .          ... 

6.  The  Baronet's  Bride    .     . 
7.  Who  Wins?  
8.  Staunch  as  a  Woman  .     . 
9.  Led  by  Love      .... 
10.  Cast  Up  by  the  Tide    .     . 
11.  Golden  Gates     .... 
12.  Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar  Room 

SECTION 
13.  Faith  Gartney's  Girlhood 
14.  Soldiers  Three   .... 
16.  The  Light  That  Failed      . 
16.  Daddy's  Girl      .... 
17.  The  Rifle  Rangers  .     .    . 
18.  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast 
19.  Great  Expectations,  Vol.  1. 
20.      "               "            Vol.2. 
21  Ishmael  Vol  1  , 

22.        "       Vol.2.       .     .     . 
23.  Self  -Raised,  Vol.  1.      .     . 
24.    "        "       VoL2.       .     . 

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SECTION  A 

1.  Strong  and  Steady  7.  Brave  and  Bold 

2.  Strive  and  Succeed  8.  Jack's  Ward 

3.  Try  and  Trust  9.  Shifting  for  Himself 

4.  Bound  to  Rise  10.  Wait  and  Hope 

5.  Risen  from  the  Ranks  11.  Paul  the  Peddler 

6.  Herbert  Carter's  Legacy  12.  Phil  the  Fiddler 

SECTION  B 

13.  Slow  and  Sure  19.  Making  His  Way 

14.  Julius  the  Street  Boy  20.  Tony  the  Tramp 

15.  Tom  the  Bootblack  21.  Joe's  Luck 

16.  Struggling  Upward  22.  Do  and  Dare 

17.  Facing  the  World  23.  Only  an  Irish  Boy 

18.  The  Cash  Boy  24.  Sink  or  Swim 

SECTION  C 

25.  A  Cousin's  Conspiracy  31.  Sam's  Chance 

26.  Andy  Gordon  32.  The  Telegraph  Boy 

27.  Bob  Burton  33.  The  Young  Adventurer 

28.  Harry  Vane  34.  The  Young  Outlaw 

29.  Hector's  Inheritance  35.  The  Young  Salesman 

30.  Mark  Mason's  Triumph  36.  Luke  Walton 

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